Sealaionn
by TrekPhile47
Summary: B'Elanna-based angst/slash story. Taken from the ship, she is made a murderer and a mutineer. What price does freedom cost, and would you pay it with the life of a crewmate to save your own?
1. Stolen from Heaven

Title: Sealaionn 1: Stolen from Heaven

Author: TrekPhile47

Summary: The first in a four-part series. B'Elanna is kidnapped from Voyager and tortured. But for what reason?

B'Elanna and Tom have a fight, each is too stubborn to go to the other for forgiveness; B'Elanna and Seven are kidnapped from _Voyager_. As Tom introspects his petty actions, B'Elanna pays severely for being a crewman aboard _Voyager_.

Rating: R, for the "F" word and angst. (I'm sorry, I like both.) 

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Voyager, and I can't afford them. I am disgruntled, I am an author; that explains and justifies my actions. Tamrak is mine, though after getting into his head, I don't think I want to play with him anymore. 

Spoilers: If you haven't at least seen "Day of Honor" or any ep after it, I think it's safe to tell you to run away. If you haven't seen "Caretaker," and don't want to be surprised; that's just sad. 

Keywords: B'Elanna, "Voyager," 

Classification: Angst 

Archive: Please e-mail me first and ask for my permission (chances are I'll give it to you; you don't need to worry about me shooting you down). [TrekPhile47@hotmail.com][1]

Notes: All poetry is by e. e. cummings (one of my favorites) unless otherwise marked. 

***

  
Hell (by most humble me which shall increase)   
open thy fire! for i have had some bliss   
of one small lady upon the earth above;   
to whom i cry, remembering her face,   
i have never loved you dear as now i love  


Tom was a dead man. He knew it; there was no way to escape the forthcoming wrath. He could dodge plasma and ion storms with the greatest of ease; he could smooth talk his way out of any jam. 

But there was no way to escape the wrath of a snubbed Klingon. 

He sighed from his edge of the chair and held his ground, "How many times do we go through this: I didn't forget on purpose!" 

"How many times _are_ you going to forget, Tom," B'Elanna shot back. Her arms were folded across her chest and she was sunk back into the pillows. Normally, her looking so angry would have been sexy if she actually wasn't angry. Tom could see the veins in her neck straining, waiting for the cue to blow. 

Tom gaped back at her, "God; you make it like I forget everything." 

"You do!" 

_Touché_. Tom gritted his teeth and spoke through them, "I'm really, really, really sorry that I forgot about our date, B'Elanna...truly." 

B'Elanna gave him a look that could melt a bulkhead. Tom bit his lip and returned to his own defensive position. 

They sat in their silence for a long time, each belligerently unbreakable. Tom wasn't too worried about it, usually after a fight, B'Elanna usually caved in and started talking to him again. It was the way they worked together, pretty much matter/antimatter: as advantageous as hell, but damn, what an explosion. This fight was the same as the rest. 

"Tom, maybe you should leave..." 

Or not. "I..." 

"No, Tom, I really don't want to hear your sob story. I hate to say it, but I am really sick of it. I do sympathize with you working as field medic _and_ pilot, but I also have things to deal with. I don't like having to get off my haggard shift of listening to engineers giving me their bullshit and then have to listen to my boyfriend bullshit apologies for what's inevitably going to happen again," B'Elanna snapped. As long as Tom had backed her into the corner, she might as well fight her way out of it. 

Tom looked as if she had walked all over his manhood, he was utterly stunned at her outburst, but not surprised. "You know what? You're right B'Elanna: I'll see you." 

If the doors slammed, then it would have rattled itself off its hinges. But, there were no hinges and the doors don't slam. B'Elanna sat confused and quiet, _What the hell just happened?_

While B'Elanna was trying to figure out the answer, Tom waited outside the door, waiting for her to run to get him. In five minutes, B'Elanna still hadn't made her grand appearance. "Fine," he muttered in false finality, turning on his heel, he walked down the hall with purpose. 

B'Elanna just needed time to cool off, and then she'd forgive him. She couldn't last long with being severely mad at him. 

***

B'Elanna gritted her teeth so hard they practically turned to dust in her mouth. She yanked hard on the panel, which only accomplished ripping off one of her already-short fingernails. "Dammit!" she hollered, letting her shout reverberate in the Jefferies tube. 

She was in a mood most foul this morning and it all started a week ago when she and Paris had gotten into that fight. It was a small ship and their relationship wasn't exactly hush-hush anymore: word traveled faster than an ship borne on hell's wings. Whispers were suspended as she walked by herself to her shift and restarted as she turned the corner. She received sympathetic (and wholly pathetic) looks from comrades, which meant little or nothing to her. Things just got worse from there: including the power relay grids blowing their fuses for the umpteenth time this month. 

B'Elanna growled in anger as the fight played itself over again like some deranged holomovie. Tom probably figured she was going to come around and forgive him, but she wouldn't stoop down to allowing him to know what she wanted, she couldn't allow him to know her so well. And of course, Tom being Tom, he was equally stubborn; he hadn't come within twenty feet of her to ask for her forgiveness. Silence breeds silence...and then more silence, so they hadn't talked in a week. 

Which suited B'Elanna fine. ..._Liar_, the voice inside her taunted. 

_Stupid jerk, lousy bastard._

Somehow, cursing Paris made her feel a little bit better. It took away the sting of how badly she knew she had hurt him. 

Her bleeding finger finally screamed at her, demanding her attention. She popped the tip of it into her mouth, letting the coppersalty blood stain her tongue. She allowed herself the brief moment of comfort, sitting there like a child, with her knees cuddled to her chest, hoping the pain would bounce off her (as it liked to seep through every orifice that she had). She pursed her lips and beat her right fist on the console, "Work you piece of crap!" 

It laughed at her, which made her furious. 

She leaned up against the wall of the Jefferies tube and sighed. She was tired of running around and fixing things: she hated being the only one to know the answers, and she didn't want to answer everyone's questions. Having so much authority was fun at first, then it became real work. She just wished everyone would leave her alone. 

The tears hot on her cheeks surprised her. 

Great, this was all she needed; to go back to Engineering red-eyed and runny-nosed. She rubbed fiercely at her eyes, scratching at the already raw skin, trying to get the tears to stop flowing. She cursed again as she ran the raw flesh of her finger into the jagged fingernail edge. 

She sighed angrily with equal amount of tears. Why wouldn't time stop because she was upset and hurt? 

She finally gave into the inevitable and cried softly. This was all Tom Paris's fault. If he hadn't forgotten.... And if he hadn't been so.... And if he...if he.... 

It was no use, there wasn't any way she could place the blame on Tom. And that made it all worse: this mess was mostly her fault. ...Her damned Klingon fault. 

She couldn't have been sure how long she sat in her comfort world, but she figured that she should have gotten back to work: she came here in the first place to work, not for solace. She opened her engineering kit like it was a box of treasure and lifted out a panel extractor. (She probably should have thought of the crowbar before ripping her fingernail off, but she blamed it on the Klingon genes.) 

She pried the panel off and set working. With the tricorder and circuit spanner, she worked arduously on fixing the relay networks and off her black mood. ...Keeping her thoughts of her own problems was her forte. 

"Do you require assistance, " a resonant female voice asked. 

"Ah," B'Elanna cried out and placed a hand to her hammering heart. "Sweet Lord, Seven; you scared me." 

"That was not my intent," Seven pointed out as she pulled herself into the Jefferies tube next to B'Elanna. They were too large to both fit in the same five feet of space, but that didn't seem to bother Seven. She leaned over nosily and observed B'Elanna's work. 

"I'm sure if you meant it, you would have waved your assimilation tubules at me," B'Elanna growled. 

Silent moments passed as Seven looked at her with perplexed eyes. ...Well, one eye. 

B'Elanna sighed, it was like Seven to understand physical force and yet not understand sarcasm or rhetoric. "Nevermind." 

Seven looked even more perplexed, but continued on, "I was going to offer you my assistance." 

"I'm fine, Seven," B'Elanna assured, _Now get the hell away from me!_

"It seems as though the warp-command relays are off line again. ...Are you attempting to fix it?" 

"Yes, Seven, I was _trying_ to fix them when you came here and interrupted me," B'Elanna snapped. 

An emotion flickered across the Borg's (_former_ Borg, she reminded herself for the billionth time) face. It was something like anger, then hurt, and the urge to slap B'Elanna across her pouting face. Her eyes blinked calmly as she reigned in her own emotions; "I was only attempting to help you, Lieutenant." 

B'Elanna gave in with a sigh of defeat; "I'm sorry, Seven: I've been having a bad day." 

"Understood," Seven said, the excuse substituted for an apology. 

There was something about Seven of Nine at that moment that B'Elanna appreciated: Seven didn't care what muck B'Elanna was swimming through in her brain, she just wanted to get the job done. (Not like Tom, who always wanted to hear how she was thinking. She didn't like throwing her emotions into the air so that all the spectators to her one-ring circus watched as she precariously juggled them all.) B'Elanna couldn't help but feel grateful. 

"You replaced Alpha-Pi 801 in the wrong place," Seven pointed out, killing the glow. Her aluminum-clad fingers reached past B'Elanna's poised talons and slipped the chip out of its casing and into another one. 

"Uh...thanks, Seven," B'Elanna said. Her hand dropped to her side a defeated soldier. 

"Excuse me, Lieutenant; but you seem agitated," Seven noted, digging her own space grave. B'Elanna bared her teeth in hostility and nearly reached out with her hands to strangle Seven. 

Instead, she pressed the flesh into the nail, making her focus on the pain instead; "I am, Seven. And I prefer not to talk about it." 

"I was just told by the Doctor if there is empathy present in other crewmates I should inquire---"

"Argh! Seven: I don't _care_ what the Doctor told you! I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine! Can we please drop it?" 

Seven's face betrayed no anger this time, only a little hurt that was then covered with indifference. Her shoulders slumped a little bit, showing B'Elanna subtly that she was trying hard to act human. B'Elanna knew she wasn't helping by shooting down her attempts. 

"Damn," B'Elanna cursed. "I just..." 

Seven blinked her eyes slowly; silencing B'Elanna's flubbed attempts at amends. 

The air shimmered beside them as an alien materialized in the Jefferies tube and B'Elanna cried out, nearly falling over herself. 

"Lieutenant, get down!" Seven dove towards her to protect her from an energy weapon aimed directly at them both. "Seven of Nine to Tuvok: Intrude---" she groaned as the weapon discharged and hit her in the stomach. 

B'Elanna's own attempts to drag Seven out of the Jefferies tubes were cut off as she was also hit in the stomach. It felt like someone had set fire to her insides and she groaned as her entire world fuzzed out and blackened. Her body slumped over Seven; her hand brushing up against Seven's...their last apology. 

"Beam me out," the alien said, placing his hand on B'Elanna's back. The three of them glimmered like celebration confetti and then were gone. 

***

  
put off your faces,Death:for day is over   
(and such a day as must remember he   
who watched unhands describe what mimicry   
...   
opens a gate;the prisoner dawn embraces.  


"As of 1347 this afternoon, Beta Shift, Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres and Seven of Nine are reported missing...or AWOL," Captain Janeway said slowly to the senior staff. 

"Gone?" Tom asked. "They can't just be _gone_. There aren't many places to go." 

Janeway shrugged gently, "They _are_ gone. I know that's hard, but we have to face it. We are doing everything in our power to find them. Until then, that's what is written in the official log." 

"Captain if I may interrupt, I have discovered something: there was an interrupted transmission to the bridge at the time Lieutenant Torres and Seven of Nine went missing," Tuvok reported. "The message was not completed, thus not coming to the bridge. Also, there are traces of energy weapon's fire in Jefferies tube 45, section 2." 

"Abducted?" 

"It appears so," Tuvok affirmed, "although there is no signs of a beaming in or out from the ship." 

Figures: when you need evidence, there is none. "I want people on this: there is no way we are letting our crew get kidnapped without a fight. Tuvok, assemble a group of the security and get on it now. I want hourly reports. ...Meeting dismissed." 

Great, another missing person/body to add to the account list in _Voyager_'s logbook. What made this on the body count? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? Janeway couldn't count them anymore; she didn't _want_ to count them anymore. 

This time, it was slowly creeping up the ladder. Her Head Engineer and Seven (the Fix-It-All-But-Breaks-Most-First-After-Disturbing-The-Natural-Order-Of-Things officer). Things were starting to take a nasty turn for the worse, which was the next going to be? Could it even be her? 

She was jumping ahead of herself again; there was no confirmation that B'Elanna and Seven were dead, only missing. 

_They could be dead_, the evil voice within her hissed. _They are dead and you did it again, Kathryn Janeway: you are signing your crew's death warrant._

She blinked hard and shut the voice out of her head: everything she did was for her crew. She'd give her own life for her crew. 

_You're a failure, Janeway. Throw in the towel, you've lost._

_I have not_, she screamed back. She sighed angrily and circled the table. She was surprised when she saw a lone figure staring at her. He was as grim as the devil, and about twice as sinister looking. All Janeway could make out in her fog-clogged brain was his piercing blue eyes. The eyes betrayed hurt and painfully irredeemable hope. 

Tom hadn't moved from his spot. He sat now like some invisible blow had struck him. 

"Tom?" 

"I hadn't spoken to her in a week," he said with hurt in his throat. "We got into a fight: a petty lover's quarrel." 

Janeway understood. She sat down in the chair previously occupied by Harry Kim and swiveled in it. "This isn't your fault. You shouldn't believe in superstition." 

"It wouldn't hurt _as_ bad if I had spoken to her this morning, told her that I loved her, giver her a hug...asked her to forgive me," he replied. It was as if she was dead, and the truth of that fiction could have easily been fact. It was already beginning to ache deep within him. "I haven't been able to say goodbye, and my last memory is walking out on her. 

"I'm sorry, Tom," Janeway put a hand on his shoulder. "I wish I could say something to help you." 

"I wish _I_ could say something to help me." 

"It hurts so much to have this happen, it hurts as a Captain, and it hurts because you love her. I want to remember her as she was, changing and growing. She was learning to live with herself, which was a feat of feats, Tom. You should let that be your strongest memory if it's your last," Janeway advised. 

"...They can't be dead---_B'Elanna_ can't be dead," he insisted. "I don't understand it: B'Elanna was murdered and yet I am here, and I can't say or do anything. It's not fair." 

"Things happen to people, good and bad alike, and it hurts worse when they are good people. I don't know if you believe in fate, but whatever happened did happen and right now, we can't change it. I can't guarantee that they aren't dead, and yet, I can't guarantee that they are, Tom," Janeway murmured. "We have to accept it...then we have to move on." 

"I can't move on with this so heavy inside me," Tom replied, his eyes lined with tears. He wiped them away, ashamed of himself; the motion killed something inside Janeway. "I feel like I'm being dragged to the bottom of an ocean." 

Janeway shook her head, unable to reply as she was battling her own tears. _If only you could understand how I feel like I failed, Tom. Captain-hood is not all wine and roses._

The stricken look on Tom's face nearly shattered her shell. "Please Captain, help me." 

The request pulled Kathryn to the bottom of the ocean with Tom. It was like a call from behind a cage, and it sounded just as painful. "I will, I'm doing everything I can to find out what happened to B'Elanna and Seven. There are limits to what I can do and to what we can find. If I can't find anything to rule that they are alive, then they are dead. Life goes on through good and bad, so must we." 

Tom choked on his tears, "I...I understand." 

"Don't say goodbye yet, Tom. If you lose your hope, then B'Elanna does die and the murderers go free. If you forget, we forget. I swear I will not rest until I find something...anything." 

***

  
stands a suicide   
sniffing a Paper rose   
smiling to a self...   
  
...(a moon swims out of a cloud   
a clock strikes midnight   
a finger pulls a trigger   
a bird flies into a mirror)  


The room was a meat locker, and the person lying on the table was uncovered...unprotected. It was cold enough that the faint breath from her slacked jaw was steam. Her skin rose in gooseflesh, but there was no way to warm herself, her wrists were restrained, as were her ankles. It wouldn't have mattered if she could; she was unconscious. 

She lay alone in this room, dreaming---or perhaps in a nightmare. Her body twitched and constricted in pain as if fighting an invisible dream assailant. Her flesh crawled with a life its own, trying to be free, trying to escape the inner hell. 

Her nearly silent moans were pitiful and mewling as if she were a wounded animal: and yet, she was. She was alone in an alien world and hurt, no amount of sleep or calm can deny that fact. She cried as she realized she is not dreaming, but trapped in a nightmare. 

B'Elanna's eyes shot open as she screamed someone's name. Her voice caught in her bruised throat and stuck there, thick and choking. 

Frantically, she moved her arms, and then her legs. She felt like a pinned butterfly that was still alive: beating its wings furiously against the Styrofoam but nowhere to fly except into Plexiglas. She could smell the formaldehyde thick as if it were solid. Being so vulnerable frightened her and she went into hyperventilation. It took great willpower and time for her to regain control. 

She thrust her chest up and head towards one another, trying to hit the commbadge against her chin to activate it. She missed, and the whiplash stung her neck, but tried again for her freedom. "Torres to _Voyager_."

Nothing. She tried again, her voice barely above a whisper. Still nothing. 

Figured: when in dire straits, the first thing to go was the commbadge. Someone should have reported the design flaw a long time ago. Or maybe it was just _Voyagers_ who were cursed with the mechanical misfortune. 

Her teeth began to chatter as the sweat from her nightmare evaporated. She could feel the blackness pressing against her body, threatening to swallow her. Shivering provided some warmth, but not much. 

She realized past the adrenaline of fear that her stomach hurt. It felt like she was being gouged out with a blunt-edged ice cream scoop. Occasionally, the muscles in her abdomen winced involuntarily, causing momentary ease, but then slipping back into sharp ache. 

She tried to figure out where she was, but she couldn't remember all that much that had happened within the last 24 hours, her mind was hazy and blurred like bad leola root stew. She struggled with her brain, forcing it to focus, but it refused; memories were graying around the edges and it felt like she was full of matter-antimatter explosions. 

The pain was getting worse; her stomach felt like it was being chewed on along with being gouged out. 

In sudden rage and fear, B'Elanna undulated her body against the restraints, trying to free herself using brute Klingon force. She slammed her head down onto the table with sharp impacts, making stars appear in the edges of her vision. She ripped her hands up to her head, which only succeeded in making the skin tear and bleed, and her knees popped in contempt as she tried kicking her way out of the restraints. She cried out in rage and pulled harder on everything, determined to free herself, but nothing gave. 

_Animals who are caught in traps will chew off their own appendage to get free._ B'Elanna hoped it wouldn't come to that, something would have to give; wither her bones or the restraints. 

Her blood felt like it was laced with alcohol, her whole body hurt, each thudding of her heart sent whole new waves of pain through her body. 

Despite her resolve, she began to whine pitifully, exactly like a confused trapped animal: "Please...help me, someone." 

She remembered between her cries that she had been kidnapped. She remembered the alien in the Jefferies tube and then the pain in her guts as she was shot. The sawdust in her brain refused to let her focus onto anything concrete. 

Music began to play. 

It was so soft that B'Elanna wouldn't have noticed it unless she was in craning to listen for rescuers. It slowly grew until she didn't have to strain to hear it. 

It was a hymn from Earth. She recognized the opening chords as "I Danced in the Morning." How many times had she listened to Harry practice the song on his damned oboe? 

...Clarinet, she reminded herself. Harry played the clarinet. 

_"Dance, dance, wherever you may be: I am the Lord of the Dance," said He. "I shall lead you all wherever you may be, for I am the Lord of the Dance," said He._

Her mind, which had once been crisp as she listened to the music, was beginning to fuzz over again. 

The lights perked on: it was as if the ceiling had opened up to the sky. B'Elanna wasn't religious, even in Klingon, but she muttered a half-prayer for deliverance. 

The ceiling mirrored ambient light at the beginnings of a dawn. No, it wasn't a dawn, it was a sunset: the ceiling streaked with orange, pink, purple and indigo. B'Elanna gasped at its beauty, ceasing in her struggles for the moment to stare at it. 

Dusk gave way to night, the sky navy blue, and dotted with flickering stars. By some marvel of alien science, this nighttime sky was enough to illuminate the room. B'Elanna stopped staring at the sky and craned her head back and forth; searching for the person that had lit the room. Her hands opened and closed, still searching to free themselves despite the fact that her body was calm. 

"Easy, little butterfly," a voice said. "You'll hurt yourself." 

"Where are you," B'Elanna cried out in anger and frustration. "Show yourself!" 

"I plan on it," the voice said. "I have been watching you for some time. Poor little thing, you strain so hard, but accomplish nothing." 

B'Elanna let an angry cry come from her throat, the walls echoed the grievous noise and back into her brain where it shattered the glass. 

"Shh, your cries are in vain, save your voice to talk. If you ask nicely, I may be able to answer your questions." 

"Who are you? Where are you?" 

"My name, butterfly, is Tamrak. And I am here in this room with you." 

B'Elanna caught something in the corner of her eye and whipped her head to see it. She saw the figure she had heard silhouetted against the walls. He stepped forward. 

Tamrak was a tall man dressed in a doctor's uniform. A civilian doctor's uniform. Scrubs to be exact. B'Elanna didn't know where she had seen the clothes before. Never on anyone in Starfleet, maybe from the ancient past. She cursed and willed her brain back into focus. 

His hair was clipped close to his head, but fell forward as he leaned over the table to examine B'Elanna's wrists, his hands gently touched the raw flesh and then he clucked his tongue and scribbled on a clipboard. His skin was pallid, but sparkled almost; his lips were dark purple and frowned on her as he looked her over. His green eyes read over all of his notes. 

"Turn the music off," B'Elanna growled; it was soothing her when she needed to be ferocious. 

"You don't like it," Tamrak pouted. "I do so love good music when I am working." 

"You sick bastard," B'Elanna cursed. 

"On the contrary, B'Elanna; you're the sick one," Tamrak surprised her with the knowledge of her name. "Ah, I knew you'd be surprised! How grand, I have been able to elicit something other than anger in you." 

"How?" 

"All in the lobes, my dear," Tamrak said, tapping his head. "It's amazing what the brain will project when the body is hurt. Almost like the little black box of the body. It transmits just about everything in the cerebral cortex, hoping that somehow, _something_ will understand it and keep the memory alive." He giggled through his nose at his own knowledge. B'Elanna wanted to gag. 

"Oh don't look so...disgusted," Tamrak pouted again. "Holier-than-thou doesn't behoove you, especially seeing as you're the one ready for dissection, not me." 

B'Elanna heaved herself against the restraints, a new excuse the try to free herself. She groaned as the pain in her stomach grew and heaved her whole body harder into her freedom fight. 

"It won't do you any good, Miss Torres. These restraints can take up to 400 metric kilograms of pressure per square centimeter. The only things that you'll break is you arms." 

"So be it," she muttered as she ignored his warning. Her wrists opened and began to bleed again. 

"You don't want to have me sedate you," Tamrak warned. "The withdrawal is quite painful, or so I have observed. ...No one really lives through it." 

B'Elanna slacked at the warning of more pain and had already been defeated in her first battle. 

"Good girl, I knew you'd understand primitive emotion." 

"The most primitive emotion in all species is fear, blockhead," B'Elanna spat. 

"Come now, we mustn't get nasty. I understand that fear is a primitive, emotion, Miss Torres; but please, your reading ahead in the script and I loose my place when people do that." 

B'Elanna turned her head away, "How long have I been here?" 

"Oh, about thirty-six hours," Tamrak replied smoothly. 

"Where's Seven of Nine?" 

"The Borg? ...She's 'indisposed' at the moment." 

"What are you doing to her," B'Elanna urged. 

"_We_ aren't doing anything," Tamrak replied. "In fact, no one is doing anything to her at the present moment." 

B'Elanna closed her eyes against the emotions that newly washed on her shores, "What are you going to do to her?" 

He ignored her, a sign of him being in control; "Now please, B'Elanna, be a dear and open your eyes: I like to be looked at when talking to people." 

B'Elanna opened her eyes, and glared at him through her molten pain, "Make it stop." 

"The pain? I would, B'Elanna, honestly," Tamrak replied, "but if you weren't in pain, you may get the idea to stay silent, and I wouldn't appreciate that. No, you must stay in pain." 

"I am Klingon," B'Elanna said, "pain doesn't affect me the way you'd hope." 

"Ah, little butterfly," he replied, "but you are half human, are you not? And that, B'Elanna, is the fissure in your titanium: enough pressure will break it." 

It was sickening the way he put it; he was so blatant, so factual. He clearly was enjoying playing the mind games issued on B'Elanna. The stars above her flickered in reprieve, asking her to be calm. 

"Do you like them? The stars, I mean," Tamrak asked above her. "Its pretty much a fiber-optic display recorded from real life. If I do recall, it's from Earth." 

"You couldn't have created it when I was unconscious," B'Elanna pointed out, "you've only had my thoughts and memories for 36 hours." 

"True, but it wasn't created for you," Tamrak replied. "It was created long ago when I had another human in my lab. ...Paul Wright." 

"How...?" 

"Perhaps I should tell you in a story; it will take your mind off the pain," Tamrak offered. "Long ago, there were a group of us who lived as scientists in the Gamma Quadrant, very far from what little has been discovered and traveled. We took different races and studied them for durations of time. We could hear their thoughts, and we could feel their pain. For us, mind reading is very much an aphrodisiac. 

"We extended out in the direction of Deep Space Nine, but didn't venture within scanning range. That would have been too dangerous for us. Whenever we felt someone of interest, we would take them. That's how we received Paul. ...Ouch, B'Elanna, that was a nasty thought," Tamrak replied, looking down at her. 

"You kidnapped them; like you kidnapped me!" she voiced aloud for auditory confirmation. 

"Shush, do you want to hear this or not?" He continued without waiting, "Anyway, we learned of the Dominion conflict and it troubled us so. We went in search of the Cardassians, and passed through the Array and here into the Delta Quadrant. Caretaker and his assistant helped us in little ways. We started out work here." 

"You work for yourselves?" 

"No," Tamrak frowned, "we don't. We now work for Caretaker's assistant." 

"She's alive!" B'Elanna yelped. 

"Yes, she is, and we work for her in hopes that she will send us back to the Gamma Quadrant." 

B'Elanna snorted, "She's holding you here like you're holding me!" She pealed in short laughter to rub it into Tamrak, despite the fact that it was hurting her ragged throat. 

"Quiet!" Tamrak thundered, the insult egging him on. "Caretaker's Assistant has had her eye on _Voyager_ for a long time. We decided to take one of you and see if you were worth her time." 

"What the hell does that mean," B'Elanna asked. 

"We have to pick your brain, B'Elanna. We have to find out why Caretaker's assistant wants you so badly, she's had her eyes on you for a very, very long time." 

B'Elanna wriggled in her straps, trying to relieve the aching in her cramping muscles, "Please Tamrak, just give me something to uncramp my muscles." 

Tamrak shrugged, "I can't." 

"Bastard," she hissed. "Let me go!" 

"B'Elanna, do you want me to sing it for you, would you like a song and dance?" The way Tamrak said it made him sound a lot like Tom. B'Elanna shuddered at the sad memory. 

"Ah, there we are, " Tamrak said. "We're already making progress and we haven't even started. Let me see, shall we do this the easy way or go about it the fun way?" 

B'Elanna shuddered again, shutting her mind down. 

"Oh, B'Elanna, you don't look like your having much fun," he pointed out. "Maybe I'll do this easier, you don't want to be pushed so rigorously the first day." 

B'Elanna could feel what was like tiny little baby hands pulling at yarn inside her head. B'Elanna tried to grab the hands and pull them away, but they were crafty and dodged her. "If you continue, I swear to God, I'll scream so loud the Alpha Quadrant will hear it." 

"B'Elanna, I'm loosing my patience," Tamrak warned. B'Elanna took his word for it and let him pull the stuffing out of her head. She could see what he was doing in his head, it was terrible, and it was degrading. 

"...Tom...Paris. Penal colony...accident...renegade," Tamrak revealed things verbally as he saw them in her head; even though she herself could see them as if they were happening again. "Seems like a regular bad kid. ...Lied about...three deaths...Charlie...Bruno...Odile.... My, my, B'Elanna, you sure can pick them, can't you?" 

"Go to hell," B'Elanna screamed at him and strained at the restraints. If she got her hands on him she'd kill him, she'd take his neck in her hands and squeeze. 

"That's not very nice," Tamrak pointed out in his annoying simple way. He continued the mental rape; "...Oh, what's this? A fight? How terrible. I guess I can understand your repressing those memories. And think, I never even let you say goodbye." 

B'Elanna let out another howl and strained against him. 

"Let me ask you something B'Elanna: How does it feel to know that you make love to a man who's a murderer?" 

"Fuck you," B'Elanna replied mixed in with an anguished scream of complete pain. Everything that she had left went into it, and when she couldn't breathe anymore, the tears fell down her face, burning through her skin. 

Tamrak only smiled placidly and with great humor at her pain. 

"Perhaps that is enough for today," Tamrak noted mercifully. "We shall see what you have to say when I come back. I'll let you think about whether or not you want to continue." 

"Like I have a choice?" she hissed. 

"Well, no, not really. But I'm going to let you think." 

"You already know the answer," B'Elanna said. 

"True, B'Elanna, but I'm going to let you think about it. Thought is a powerful weapon: it can make and break. In your case, Miss Torres, chances are it will break you, and it makes my job much easier," Tamrak said with quiet subhuman tones. "You have 24 hours. We shall see how long you last with your own thoughts while you are in pain and starving." 

"I'll never let you have my thoughts, you bastard. Never!" B'Elanna screamed as the door shut behind him. 

***

B'Elanna lay alone on the exam table for four hours in complete silence after Tamrak had left her, not hearing anything but the laboring of her breathing. The night sky had shut itself off and left her in complete darkness. 

At first, it wasn't too bad; she had managed to sleep between the waves of pain, then she gritted her teeth and rode them out when it became nearly unbearable. She managed to occupy her mind with thoughts of battle, which gave her body a better explanation to the pain and a reason to heal itself. 

It was towards the rounding of the sixth hour by herself that she started to feel anything of what Tamrak had done to her; the mental rape had induced her mind to run around and grab the marbles that had fallen out of the bag. The pain in her brain was maddening, it was like her cerebral cortex was expanding and trying to break its way out of her skull. 

The memories ripped through her brain with sharp clarity; she relived every moment for the next four hours in record time. The ones she had finally managed to deal with were the ones that aggravated her pain the most. She was sure that anyone looking at her could tell about the pain she was going through, her throat betrayed nothing, but her face told all. 

Then she realized the hunger in her stomach. 

She couldn't remember her last meal; it was as if the 24-hour period before Tamrak got ahold of her brain was like murky seawater. She bit her lip and tried not to think about it. 

No such luck. It but at her stomach, tickling and purring and begging her to put something in her body. B'Elanna could do nothing. She couldn't feed herself, she was still restrained and even if she could, she couldn't find anything to do it with. 

"B'Elanna," someone called. 

"Tamrak," the fear was frost in her throat. 

"Come back, B'Elanna." 

"Tom?" 

"I need you." 

"Tom!" she almost saw him, what she could distinguish (and it wasn't even with her eyes, it was in her brain) was his piercing blue eyes. But as soon as she recognized it, it had died away into the heavy blackness. 

She was starting to hallucinate. She hadn't hallucinated in years, and even then, she hadn't known that they were hallucinations. They weren't pleasant then, either.... 

She had to get water; she had to get food. She couldn't do anything but think of that and every time she thought about it, it made her insane. 

No water, the only thing that she had was blood. She had her own blood coursing through her veins for her use. Of course, the idea was not pleasant, and perhaps though was good at first; use the water in her blood to satiate herself. Then, of course, the water she lost from bleeding herself would be barely replaced by the blood that she did drink. Obviously, that plan wouldn't work. 

She bit down fiercely on her lips, making the blood flow thick and hot. It coated her mouth and dripped down the back of her throat. The pain was nothing compared to in her stomach, and her throat didn't feel as dry or as cracked. 

_Stupid move, B'Elanna_, she chided herself angrily. She would certainly want more blood to make her not feel thirsty, and there was no way that she could supply enough blood to keep herself from dehydrating without dehydrating from blood loss. Catch-22. 

She had no idea how long she had to go until Tamrak returned. It was probably still hours before she would get food or water. Klingons (even half-Klingons), like Terrans, could only survive so long without water. Maybe she should have listened to how her mother described the ways a warrior prepared for battle; there may have been something in there about slowing metabolism.... 

Oh well, that was then, this was now. She was going to starve to death; it was as simple as that. 

Her mind flooded with particularly morose memories of her own bidding; she couldn't stop them from coming and she couldn't stop them from flooding past her. She remembered her mother, and all the fights; she remembered her father, and all the tears; she remembered Starfleet, and all the anger; she remembered Tom, and all the love. 

The last memories were the ones she played over and over again as a masochistic play that paraded around in her brain. 

She took sighing breaths that ended up turning into tears. She couldn't wipe them away, and she knew that pain would only make them worse. She mashed her lips together, and swallowed hard, but that wouldn't stop them. 

B'Elanna realized how lonely she was. She hadn't seen a living soul in over twelve hours, and she hadn't even then seen anyone familiar. She estimated that she'd been gone from _Voyager_ for about two days. It felt like it had been forever. 

She whimpered in spite of herself, then she bit fiercely down on her lip to stop the animal noises. She fell asleep a few hours later with the blood dripping from her lips, and congealing in the back of her throat. 

***

Tamrak came back into the exam room in the 24-hours time that he had promised to her. On a small tray, he had set up a small vial of milky white liquid and a hypodermic needle. B'Elanna tried to squirm, but she was in too much hunger pain to impress anyone with bravado. 

"Ah, so I see my little endeavor has proved useful," he said as he pulled a seat next to her table and drifted into it. He filled the syringe full of the cloudy liquid and flicked his fingers against it, removing the air bubbles with a skill that came clearly with practice. 

"Don't touch me," she hissed through her gritted teeth. 

"And not feed you? I don't think I could live with myself if you starved to death." 

"Don't patronize me," she sizzled as hot as a live wire. 

Tamrak wet a small cloth with alcohol and rubbed it against her skin; the coolness of the drying alcohol made her whole body shudder. B'Elanna fought him a little bit to let him know that she still had some fight in her. "That will soon change," he promised as he read her thoughts. 

"Don't do this to me." The words were simple and dispassionate: a simple request. If she had seen herself, she wouldn't have even known it was she. 

"If only it were that simple, B'Elanna," Tamrak said with the needle poised at her arm, "but Caretaker's Assistant wants something with you and _Voyager_ and I have made it my business to find out." 

"Why," she pressed, "what's in it for you?" 

She gritted her teeth as the felt the hot needle burn through her flesh and the liquid coursing through her veins, worming itself through her heart and too all of her muscles. The pain wasn't excruciating, it was just annoying and Tamrak was a silent as a corpse as the nutrients untied all her knots. "I'm, letting you rape my thoughts; the least that you can do for me is to answer my question." 

"On the contrary, B'Elanna...it's not by your will that I receive your thoughts. But, for your own sake, I will answer you." 

"And," she queried. 

"Caretaker's Assistant is horribly dictatorial. If things between her and my people continue to go as they do, we'll have no way to get home." 

"That's _right_; she's holding you here," B'Elanna looked at him snidely, her eyes seething plasma. "Why don't you live for yourself and trying thinking of ways to get _yourself_ home?" 

"We can't just do as you do; don't you realize that you probably won't live long enough to get home," Tamrak noted in a tone that sent shivers down her spine. "We cannot be like _Voyager_."

"Poor you," she sighed sarcastically. 

"On the contrary," he perked back up, "a good deed that pleases Caretaker's Assistant means that she will share her technology of the Array with us." 

"Doesn't that make you feel the slightest bit cheap that you have to buy the Caretaker's Assistant's good graces?" The bitterness of her words bit the insides of her mouth. 

"Anything to get home." 

B'Elanna pulled her gaping mouth shut and stared at the ceiling, which emitted ambient light. Wasn't "anything to get home" Captain Janeway's motto? If not said, then wasn't it proven by example? Somehow, the two different people displaying the mantra put a whole new spin onto the way she saw it. She didn't like what she saw. 

"Dear B'Elanna, I do believe you are looking a little green," Tamrak noted as he turned her head to face him. His fingers as soft as a child's emitted flickers if emotion in her that she though had died with the birth of her pain. She would have spat on him, but her mouth suddenly felt like it was filled with lint. "A side affect of the vitamins I gave you. Makes you right thirsty." 

B'Elanna wished he hadn't said that, because all she could think about was a glass of water. She knew that he wasn't going to give it to her either. 

"B'Elanna, dear, I'm sorry that this has to be so painful for you," Tamrak said in a slowed voice that suspended time, "but know that you are saving my race." 

Even though her mouth was dry and her throat had nearly fallen in, B'Elanna still had enough Klingon rage in her to scream. 

End 1/5

   [1]: mailto:TrekPhile47@hotmail.com



	2. Tempted by the Devil

Title: Sealaionn 2: Temted by the Devil

Author:TrekPhile47 

Summary: The sordid saga continues; B'Elanna Torres and Seven of Nine are put to rest and everyone has to move on. An old haunt makes an offer B'Elanna can't refuse and she becomes a murderer.

Tom grieves for his beloved, Janeway grieves for her lost crewmen. Tamrak is evil in his ways. B'Elanna is forced to do something that she has never done of before. B'Elanna betrays her Captain and her lover. 

Rated: R, for the "F" word, angst and serious slashiness. Oh, and there's gore in this one. 

**Warnings**: If you are adverse to female/female stuff, I advise you to run away. Adversity to violence is also a good reason to run away as well.

Disclaimer: Hail Gene Roddenberry! I profusely thank Mr. Braga for the borrowing of his characters. I promise I'll play with them gently (sort of). 

Spoilers: Same as in _Sealaionn 1_ and _Pathways._

Keywords: B'Elanna, _Voyager_

Classification: Angst, Slash, Violence

Archive: Please e-mail me first to get my permission (it's not that hard to get) [TrekPhile47@hotmail.com][1]. 

Notes: The poem by the Unknown Poet is one of my absolute favorites, it's a comfort when a loved one dies. If you wish to have the entire thing, I'll send you a copy via email. All other poetry is by e. e. cummings. If you are adverse to slash, I am really sorry, but I kind of thought it would be interesting to make the readers think of B'Elanna as unsure sexually, and I want to make you think of how it will affect the P/T relationship. Sorry if you think of me as the anti-Christ of P/T-dom. My bad. 

***

  
Do not stand at my grave and weep;   
I am not there, I do not sleep.   
...   
Do not stand at my grave and cry;   
I am not there, I did not die."   
  
_Poet Unknown_  


*

If a starship had natural night and day, and if it had rainstorms and sunshine, then this day would be dark and rainy. But on _Voyager_, all there is to betray night and day is the level of the lights, and the only weather is on the holodecks. 

But on the bridge, the mood was dark, and the faces were wet not with rain, but tears that refused to go away. And perhaps, that could have been substituted for the weather. 

Gathered on Deck One, the Bridge, were all the remaining senior officers, and the officers who had posts taken there at the appointed time of day. Each officer was dressed in the best: the Starfleet dress uniform, each replicator-starched into crisp perfection and unfeeling. There wasn't a single officer who felt the same way the uniforms reflected. 

Tom Paris bit fiercely down on his lip until his blood spilled into his mouth. It didn't matter to him how much physical pain he was in, he needed to get rid of the emotional pain. His body was rigid as a latinum bar, but inside, he was blowing around like a feather in a gale. He had tears in his eyes that stung angrily, but he refused to let them fall. 

"All hands, this is the Captain," Kathryn Janeway said over the comm system. Static erupted on the bridge, but everyone was silent. Janeway's voice cracked as she continued. "This is our final farewell to two of our best: Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, and Seven of Nine---Annika Hansen." 

A single tear slipped down Tom's cheek, burning a path for the rest to follow. He didn't move, afraid he'd crumple and break out in sobs. Instead, he locked his knees and focused ahead of him. 

The caskets were empty, there were no bodies for them; but it was fitting tribute to set them adrift in space, in a way to metaphorically let the bodies leave and to attain a final peace. Tom couldn't bear to bring himself to touch the metal, to touch the plaque with his beloved's name pressed into it. It was too final for him: too harsh and real. 

"Tom," Janeway asked quietly, "is there anything you'd like to say?" 

There was so much that he wanted to say, but then, so much holding him back. He cleared the tears from his throat and spoke, "I just want to...thank B'Elanna for living, and thank her for loving. She changed me in ways I can't begin to describe. I feel...I...will miss her so much. B'Elanna, wherever you are, please, know that I love you and be at peace." 

Janeway nodded and held his shoulder, staring up at him with pained eyes. Tom couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze: he wanted this finality to be her fault. 

But it wasn't his captain's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. There was no evidence to collect, there were no traces of either crewmember. They couldn't spend the rest of their lives searching for phantoms when the rest of them had lives to live. Tom was resentful at first of the Captain's decision; but while he was alone and thought things through, he begrudgingly admitted that it was the right thing to do. 

It still hurt. 

Janeway turned from him in understanding. Harry met her gaze, and through his own pain announced, "Attention all hands." 

Janeway paused for a moment, "'May the roads rise up to meet you, may the winds always be at your back, and may the sun shine warm upon your face.' Goodbye, Seven; goodbye, B'Elanna." She took another deep breath, "Torpedo bay one and two, on my mark. ...Release caskets." 

Everyone on the bridge held a unison breath in waiting as the black caskets appeared side by side in space. Tom wanted to reach out his hand to be able to touch the last of his love before she had gone entirely. 

The caskets disappeared in the dark of space. 

Gone forever. 

"All hands, at ease," Janeway said in between her tears. "Mr. Paris: lay in a course for home...Warp 9." 

_You failed Janeway! I have won! I have won!_

***

  
i like my body when it is with your   
body. It is quite a new thing.   
Muslces better and nerves more.   
i like your body. i like what it does,  


*

Two weeks. 

It had been two weeks since the first time B'Elanna had ever seen Tamrak, and it was two weeks too many. Her whole body ached as she lay on the floor of what became her new quarters. 

She had figured that she was in a large testing facility on the edge of a small moon orbiting a planet. It must have extended for a good four square kilometers in every direction; she had seen the maps that lined the walls. Though she couldn't read the language it was written in entirely, she was beginning to catch on and could read words like "fire" and "escape" and "prisoners." She slaved over learning them at night, and Tamrak left residual information in her brain as he raped it, and he had helped her to learn that way (even if it went unthanked) while she was alone. 

She had seen some of the other prisoners, too. They looked just as emaciated as she figured she did. All of their eyes had dulled of life, and B'Elanna feared that was the way she was going to look in only a few more weeks of the mental rape. 

She had seen the other prisoners as Tamrak and the others made cell exchanges to suit whatever needs they had for the next day. They looked as if they had seen months and even years of the same treatment that B'Elanna was going through. Their limbs were nothing more than hopeful toothpicks, and their legs were barely muscled, even from the drudging walks that they had been put through. Their eves were about as bright as a starless system; and they were about as strong as Neelix's cooked hair-pasta. 

She had spoken to one of them, if only briefly, it was enough to pull her away from the cliff. 

"How long have you been here," she asked. 

"For many, many cycles," the old woman replied. "I was taken here when I was a teenager; a POW." 

"But, you're so...old," B'Elanna noted, not trying to sound insubordinate of her old-wisdom. 

"Not so," the old woman replied back, "in a few years of this, dear heart, you will look just like me. ...Such a pity, you are so beautiful and you look so strong." 

B'Elanna was struck dumb. 

"Escape," the old woman lit the candle. "Get out of here and tell everyone what is going on." 

B'Elanna was yanked in one direction and the woman was yanked in the other, and they had been separated forever. B'Elanna didn't even know the woman's name. 

She thought it strange that she hadn't seen the Caretaker's Assistant. 

She was doomed to stay with Tamrak and the Caretaker's Assistant forever; or so it seemed. She hadn't seen the light of day in two weeks and it was a stretch to say that she had eaten four full meals within those fourteen days. Her stomach crawled again for the millionth time like a wormhole opened in her stomach and she debated whether or not the dirt on the floor was edible. She actually opened her mouth to stick her tongue to the ground before she realized what she was doing. She sat up and stared out the window that had a fake scene of the outdoors on it. Tamrak's people seemed to have no desires to keep their patients happy. 

She hadn't heard any news of Seven of Nine in all the days that she had been there. No one spoke of her in front of B'Elanna, and there were no traces of her wherever she had been taken for the different mental tests. But, even looking for information on Seven was nearly impossible; she had no idea where to begin searching. 

She missed Tom. Every night that Tamrak and his assistants left her alone to sleep, she dreamt of him. Sometimes the dreams were good, but mostly they were bad; he died, rose, tortured himself and died again. She watched herself in the mirror of her dreams, but instead of her ridges, she saw cerulean blue and a quirked smile. Every morning that she showed up in the exam room, Tamrak asked her about her apparitions. She figured that he had read them and perhaps even controlled them. Damn the bastard. 

Just thinking of Tamrak made nausea hit her like a level-10 force field. 

Her mind was as runny as warm pudding, she couldn't even be sure if she was thinking for herself anymore. Everything had been opened and pored through so many times, B'Elanna wondered how she'd ever forgotten the memories were even in there. 

Tamrak seemed utterly dissatisfied with his ravishment of what was hers. He left her and the exam room not seemingly frustrated, but she could feel the static he emitted when he raged against her subconsciously. They frustration in his brain woke her up as if someone had dumped antimatter on her. 

B'Elanna made damn sure that she knew that he was getting nowhere with her; making the Array appear farther away every time he looked over his shoulder from his work on B'Elanna to see if it was there. And with his frustrations, B'Elanna realized that Tamrak was a control-freak: when he spoke to his subordinates, he shouted and yelled and intimidated; he enjoyed making them scatter to please him. 

She wouldn't let him push her around like he did the others. 

Of course, he was the one who had the upper hand, but B'Elanna made it as difficult as she could for him. He wouldn't kill her like he had threatened: if she died, so did his hopes for ever getting technology for the Array. He did make it as painful for her as possible, but she had taught herself how to deftly ignore it. 

That only infuriated Tamrak more; he made sure that her after-hours were as miserable as her on-hours. Her food rations were drastically cut (as if she had any to begin with) and her mind was run too ragged for her to sleep decently. Hence, the onslaught of nightmares. 

Tonight seemed no different. She was just settling down for a night of exhausting sleep when the door swung open and light flooded into her room. 

"What have I done now," the words were meant harshly, but she was too exhausted. 

"You are wanted," the woman said to her. 

"By Tamrak?" 

"No, Caretaker's Assistant." 

B'Elanna pulled herself to her feet and slunk to the door, then stopped as the horrible dizziness tried to pull her back to the door, "I need water." 

"I'm sure that the Caretaker's Assistant will provide you with something," she lied. "Come along; she wishes to speak to you now." 

B'Elanna hurried as best she could, but her bare feet could barely hold the floor (and that was _with_ gravity). 

She was taken down a path she had never been before. She tried to memorize the way (for what reason, she was unsure of), but the twists and the turns confused her and she realized that retaining the way was impractical. 

B'Elanna hadn't even realized she was poorly dressed for the occasion until she looked at herself. She was still wearing the flimsy gown that she had been wearing for the past two days, the gown that was cheap and practical and didn't do anything for the prisoners' figure or happiness. She crossed her arms over herself, as if she could hide herself from the Caretaker's Assistant's brooding and discerning eyes. 

Caretaker's Assistant was sitting primly in a chair and staring at her. She had changed her appearance foe their meeting, or since her partner had died. She had a light, pale face with a high nosebone that looked like she was wrinkling her forehead; and her white hair was piled on top of her head into multiple rolls. Her sharp violet eyes pierced holes right through B'Elanna's brain, making it nearly impossible not to get sucked in. 

"So, you're the one that I received," she said simply, yet haughtily. "I had hoped for Chakotay." 

"I appreciate the compliment," B'Elanna shot snidely, thanking herself for always holding that closer than silence. 

"You have a right to be angry," she replied, "I heard this morning of what Tamrak was doing to you." 

"And yet, you didn't stop him?" 

"Of course not," she shrugged. "Thank whatever god you have, B'Elanna Torres; Tamrak has killed others because they didn't expose themselves to him." 

"Then you are as bad as he," B'Elanna shot back with hotness that wasn't her own. 

"Don't liken me to him," Caretaker's Assistant shot back to her as any self-indulged princess would; she scrunched her nose farther and B'Elanna was sure that she was going to throw a princess-sized temper tantrum. 

"What do you want with me?" 

"Simply information." 

"All this grief for information?" 

"If it is what Tamrak wishes to please himself with, then he is free to do so." Caretaker's Assistant shrugged the annoyance away as if it were an unclean robe. 

"So everything that he has put me through for the past two weeks was nothing," B'Elanna shrieked. 

"He will never get the secret of the Array," she replied smoothly, unrepentant. 

The nails of B'Elanna's fingers broke the skin easily and the hot redness dripped into her palms making them slick and greasy. She swallowed her absolute rage as best as she could, "How do I address you?" 

"Much better," Caretaker's Assistant smiled wryly. "I go by the name Kulkinara-Amet. Or simply, Kul." 

"Kul," B'Elanna began sweetly, "where is Seven of Nine?" 

"Seven whats?" 

"The Borg that came with me," B'Elanna swallowed annoyance of her own, but it was hardly nourishing. "I haven't seen or heard from her in two weeks and I am worried." 

Kulkinara-Amet tilted her head as she pondered through her brain, wondering whether or not it was worth telling her prisoner, "She is in stasis in one of the labs." 

"What is going to happen to her?" 

"Do you know what people will pay to see a Borg that cannot assimilate them?" 

"You're sick!" B'Elanna raged at her. 

"It was not my idea," Kul replied with the simplicity that was aggravating far beyond any itch that couldn't be reached. "I only support it because I have no use for her, in essence." 

"What of me? Am I to be a guinea pig for some other experiments?" 

"I need you, B'Elanna." 

Simple annoyance. Simple enough to take her bare hands and break Kul's trachea. 

"I'll always hate _Voyager_, I'll always hate Janeway." 

Thank you for the shrouded ambiguity and the sharp bluntness. B'Elanna didn't understand Kul's flight pattern. Even Tom wouldn't have understood the way she was piloting the conversation. 

"She killed my partner." 

"He was dying!" 

"She shouldn't have meddled in what she didn't understand. She killed him and all of our hopes," Kul screamed at her, standing up in her chair and shaking harder than a leaf caught in a storm. 

So; Kul and the Caretaker were lovers; not business partners. Kul figured she would avenge her lost love through placing the blame on _Voyager_. "You loved him?" 

"You're damn right I loved him," Kul spat. "I still love him; I will always love him and Janeway took that away from us." 

"She saved a race of _millions_," B'Elanna urged. 

"And killed the only dream that I ever had," Kul sobbed. She placed her face in her hands and wept freely now that the scar had been ripped open to bleed again. 

B'Elanna could understand her pain, but not her reasoning. "Make another Array." 

"I can't," Kul admitted. "Caretaker knew the key to it, he was the one who had the power, not I." 

"Did he keep it from you on purpose?" 

"He meant to tell me everything as he saw fit; before, I just lay there and looked pretty, but I wanted power from him," Kul said. 

"We're you going to usurp him," B'Elanna shot the phaser without heed. "Give him a goodbye fuck and then walk away?" 

Kul was on her in seconds, the slap on B'Elanna's face was so sharp and stinging that it felt like the skin was peeling off her face. B'Elanna reached out with her bloody hands to protect herself, but Kul had already pinned her to the ground, kneeling on B'Elanna's back with her hands pinned behind her. Kul's breath was hot and moist against her ear as it dripped poison as the Claudius killed the King in the garden as he slept. 

"I don't play your petty Klingon games, half-breed," she hissed and B'Elanna gave a shout and tried to struggle under the crushing weight. "I wanted power to show Caretaker what it was. I loved him, but he was weak and in the end, he couldn't even piss without asking someone for advice about it. Do you know what it's like to watch everything you have drain away with the curse of old age?" 

The blood was clogging B'Elanna's ears and she couldn't move; her arms were getting numb from where Kul was kneeling on them. If she had wasted the breath to answer, it wouldn't have come out right, anyway. 

"Where is Janeway?" 

"How the hell should I know," B'Elanna hissed, "I've been gone for two damned weeks." 

Kul seized B'Elanna's face in her face in her hands despite the fact that she wasn't facing upwards, and B'Elanna waited for the ground to crash into her nose. "I can't create another Array, B'Elanna. I will make Janeway pay for that, and you're going to help me." 

"I won't!" 

"If you don't help me, B'Elanna, I will make your life miserable," Kul affirmed. 

"Too late, Tamrak's already ridden me to Hell and back," B'Elanna spoiled the fun. 

"I'll set you loose in space in a tiny little shuttle with about a week's worth of water and a crappy-assed comm system. You'll never find Voyager or any other ship that will want you," she promised. "And I'll will laugh until my lungs collapse." 

B'Elanna grunted as Kul's sharp knees dug into her back, "And if I comply?" 

"That's what I like to hear," Kul's smile could be felt. "You get to live: in pain and alone, but you'll live." 

"What an incentive." 

"It's all up to you, B'Elanna. So far you have chosen the difficult path; I don't like to see that. But, if you choose to be as rebellious as Tamrak has said, then I will ride you like a lame horse." 

"And you believe Tamrak," B'Elanna wheezed. 

"You will tell me everything about _Voyager_: I want to know it down to the bolts. I want to know how each crewmember ticks so that I can rip you all apart thread by thread," Kul ordered. 

"Get the hell off of me," B'Elanna screamed as she squirmed. 

"Tell me now: will you help me or will you make things difficult?" 

"Go to Hell!" 

The blow to the back of her head was gratefully painless and took her to the black pits of her nightmares where Tom sat and threw rocks at her while he laughed and held Kul's hand. 

***

  
All in green my love went riding   
on a great horse of gold   
into silver dawn.   
  
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling   
my heart fell dead before.   


*

B'Elanna lay on the ground of the arena, completely motionless and exhausted. He sides heaved and her eyes drooped, and she had a walloping headache. 

She had been here before, usually only to watch as the prisoners were rounded up, herded, sorted and exploited. Today, she was the only on there, and the underground water system clanked and creaked beneath the hardpacked dirt. Normally, she was sure that this arena was used as entertainment for anyone of Tamrak's people. She hoped that she wasn't the next subject, or she'd give them a show they wouldn't soon forget. 

After her meeting with Kul, she had been put in solitary confinement, forced to live in a space not suitable for a large dog. She was cut off from the sun, from voices, from anything. She had lived like that for three days; total sensory deprivation. 

This morning, she was finally taken out; cleaned in the showers, given new clothes and offered food (she didn't eat it, she knocked it out of Tamrak's hand and he only smiled and left). 

Now, she wished that she'd eaten the food that Tamrak had offered, no matter how vile and insulting to her position is had been. He still hadn't been told about the Array, but B'Elanna had no urge to release the secret and his wrath onto her. 

She lifted her head for a moment when she heard the clicking of heels. The stride was that of a woman with long legs, and the sound of the fabric was definitely one she'd heard before. Her brain still hurt from the last rape, but she could place things that Tamrak had recently rummaged through. 

"Seven," B'Elanna croaked, "they let you out of stasis? How?" 

The woman looked down on her and narrowed her blue eyes, "Get up, _peh'taQ_." Her features were harsh and scratched in the ambient light of the arena. 

Her usage of Klingon vocabulary struck B'Elanna first at something being odd. "What?" B'Elanna asked; her voice pitifully weak. "What are you talking about?" 

"_Get up_." Seven's voice had a hard edge that not even B'Elanna had ever heard before. There was something fierce and animal-like in it, not prideful as it had been when she was Borg. Something about it was frightening, but also taunting. Seven sounded completely furious, like B'Elanna had just insulted her adjunct. 

If this was the way Seven wanted to play... "I will not." 

"You will not stand to meet your enemy?" 

"You aren't my enemy, Seven," B'Elanna insisted, but it sounded like she herself was unsure. "We're crewmates." 

"Honorless _peh'taQ_," Seven spat again and backhanded her, despite the fact that she had to stoop to do it. B'Elanna reeled and smashed into the ground, feeling the searing force it had created in her wrists. "Come and face me!" 

B'Elanna stood and grabbed Seven's wrist. "Don't you see that they are turning us against one another? They can control our thoughts: I won't fight you Seven!" 

"You-will-fight-me," Seven replied. The gleam in her eye darkened with a feral quality, and B'Elanna shuddered as she noted the change. How strong would she match against Seven if necessary? They were both weak from their ordeals, but B'Elanna was half-Klingon, and Seven was formerly Borg. It would end up a deadly stalemate. 

Seven grabbed B'Elanna by the throat and lifted her from the ground. B'Elanna gasped at the sheer strength and she could feel her breath being taken away as she struggled and flailed with her feet, "Put me down!" 

Seven said nothing and began to squeeze; her nails digging into her neck nerves and her jugular vein, making the pain nearly unbearable. B'Elanna kicked and squirmed, trying to knock herself free from Seven's grip without hurting either of them. 

"You will die without honor!" 

"Let me go," B'Elanna said with more force, but it was choked with lack of oxygenation. She flailed with her hands to reach for Seven, but could not. She could feel the edges of her world haze as she grew faint. 

Her fingernail scratched against something in her aimless flailing: Seven's ocular implant. Seven's fingers had just about choked the life out of her; "You fight like a weakened targ, half-breed; you are worth nothing, not even worth killing." 

The insult attained the desired affect and it encouraged B'Elanna to fight back. With a sudden uncontrollable howl of rage, B'Elanna pulled as hard as she could against the implant, emitting a cry form Seven. B'Elanna felt the air rushing back into her lungs. 

Instead of letting go of the implant, she pulled hard, ripping the metal painfully free of Seven's skin. Seven howled in absolute agony as the flesh and bone were separated, muscle and blood ruptured. Her hand went to cradle the injury and she doubled over to stop the bleeding. 

B'Elanna pounced like a coiled animal, her fingernails assailing the Borg's eyes, but instead raking down her throat. Seven returned with her teeth, biting hard into B'Elanna's own cheek and the blood dripped from her face. B'Elanna couldn't stop herself, and for that matter, neither could Seven. 

They became a tangle of flesh and fury, inseparable and morbidly involved in their brawl. What once was a beautiful Aryan face was now torn practically to pieces at B'Elanna's own hands. The fingers on her right hand were broken at the joints from where Seven had twisted them back painfully. B'Elanna realized this fight would end in the death of one of them, her fear encouraged her. 

Seven's howls became more animalistic as she realized that she was in the severe danger of loosing. Her eyes were muted with blood as her flesh had opened with each blow. Her nose was mangled as B'Elanna brought the base of her palm into it. 

Seven grabbed B'Elanna by the neck again and lifted her into the air. The place where the ocular had ripped free was now red with congealed blood and the glass eye that the Doctor had fitted her with was cracked and broken, the bone protruding from the flesh and the blood paining the skin down to her upper lip. Seven didn't seem to notice the fact that her nose was broken. B'Elanna couldn't look away as macabre interest turned full attention. 

Seven's left hand stretched out and stopped about a foot from B'Elanna's face. B'Elanna recoiled as best she could, waiting to be punched. 

Assimilation tubules sprouted from the hand and wafted towards B'Elanna. She cried out as they drifted and darted beneath her nose like two cobras ready to strike. 

"We...are...Borg," Seven said and the tubules shot into B'Elanna's collarbone. It stung in her mind like a thousand angry hornets had descended on her all at once and wouldn't relent. 

"Argh! ...You _bitch_!" B'Elanna howled as she kicked Seven with all her might in the stomach. Seven fell back and they both hit the ground. Seven was stunned in the fall, but B'Elanna was ungratefully coherent. 

B'Elanna was overcome with fear as she felt the nanoprobes flowing through her body. She crawled with all her might to Seven and pinned her there with her knees. She straddled Seven as she glared past the white-hot rage accumulating in her body. 

  
Borg.   
I am Borg.   
We are Borg.   


Millions of voices when B'Elanna couldn't even stand her own. She was going to live with billions of other living in her head. She wouldn't have anything for herself anymore. There were no personal accomplishments, no gains. No fears...no hope. She couldn't begin to live a life with that. She'd kill herself and anything standing in her way. 

  
_Kill._   
...Kill the Borg.   


Her hands wrapped around Seven's neck and she began squeezing. They both couldn't live if it meant B'Elanna had to be Borg, Seven would not live to take her to the collective to serve as a Borg. 

She wouldn't do it; there was no way. No way in Hell. 

Her bloody hands stained Seven's neck as she squeezed. For all intents and purposes, Seven made it more enjoyable as she flailed her head around and kicked her legs. "I'll hate you until I die for this, Seven! You Borg bitch! I _will_ resist!" 

The snap of Seven's trachea was like an explosion. Seven's eyes limped back in her head and her body stopped its fruitless struggles. B'Elanna still held to the collapsed trachea, pressing it still as if it would make the nightmare untrue and only a nightmare. 

But it wasn't. B'Elanna was still alive and would still be Borg. 

  
Suicide....   
Kill the Borg! _Kill the Borg!_   
Destroy!   


Seven's blood soaked B'Elanna's hands. She noticed that the implants hadn't sprouted underneath her skin, and the only part that was noticeable was her upper right forearm. The skin was sickly green against her deeply tanned skin. B'Elanna's brain rummaged around, feeling for nanoprobes, wishing to purge. But there was nothing left to purge; the assimilation had stopped. 

Her own screams filled the black arena as she had realized what she had done. She was a murderer, cold and heartless. She had killed a member of her crew with her own bare and bloodied hands. The body lay beside her, mangled and defaced. Seven's glass eye was the only one that was still alive, and even that one was dead to begin with. 

Seven's Borg-clad hand reached out to B'Elanna. 

  
Come to me.   
We are Borg. We are Borg.   
You must join us.  


_Can't you hear them, B'Elanna? They are here for you._

"Noo!" B'Elanna clawed at her skin where the implants were, ripping them free from her body, not feeling the pain as her own muscles were ripped from the bone. She flung the green skin from her; she smeared her blood in the dirt, trying to bury it. 

"Look at me," she screamed at Seven. "Look what you did to me!" 

  
Come. 

  
Join your brothers and sisters.   
  
We are Borg.   


B'Elanna passed out from pain and blood loss next to Seven's body. The two lay next to each other; one butcher, one butchered. Seven was the butcher, Torres was the butcher. Each had done the cleaving; each had been chopped to pieces. 

  
We are the Borg.   
You will be assimilated.   
Resistance is futile.   
...You must comply.   


_Let me go_, a tiny voice screamed in the din. The brain that had taken her along for a ride finally released its mental clench. 

_...You must comply, B'Elanna: if you don't, we will kill you._

***

  
it's just like a coffin's   
inside when you die,   
pretentious and   
shiny and   
not too wide  


*

B'Elanna's eyes were red and her stomach hurt from crying so hard. She hadn't remembered being removed from the arena, but she did remember waking up and looking at herself. 

There were no implants, there was no Borg nanoprobes floating in her system, there were no cuts or bruises on her skin, and her fingers were unbroken. 

But Seven was still dead. 

She heard the whispers as people passed by her cell, they talked about the Klingon who'd killed her crewmate with her bare hands---no remorse and no second thoughts. Passers-by looked in to gawk at the man-beast. They were disappointed to see a fetal ball curled up in a corner and weeping. 

B'Elanna looked out her fake window for the millionth time and burst into a fresh set of tears. In her hand, she clutched the string that held her gown shut. It flapped open, and the string was clean and white against B'Elanna's soiled hand. 

Kul had promised that if B'Elanna didn't comply, she would make B'Elanna's life miserable. She had not made idle on her threats: B'Elanna wanted to die. 

She promised herself that she would, she couldn't let this murder go unpunished...even if it was she who was the murderer. 

She looped the cord around her neck, and the cotton stuck to the sweat on her skin. Her nervous swallow made the string fall limply to her collarbone. It wouldn't be loose for long. 

She wouldn't snap her neck; she would asphyxiate, but that suited B'Elanna fine. As long she didn't have to live with the gaping hole of pain in her body. 

The window bars were just high enough so that she could hang from them when she dropped to her knees in final prayer. She made quick work of trying the cotton to the bars, even though her fingers trembled. She thanked the fact that there were no cameras in the room---at least none that she had seen or found when she scoured it. 

By the time Tamrak could read her thoughts, it would be too late for him to reach her and for her to still be alive...or useful. She would make it quick; she wouldn't draw it out so that she wouldn't have to suffer any more than she had. 

Her tears nearly melted her face off. She swallowed and paused for a second. It was all the time he needed. 

"B'Elanna, no!" 

"Tom," she choked. 

"Don't do this," he begged as he reached his hand to her. His eyes were dark with worry and fear, but he dared not approach her in fear that she would drop to her knees right in front of her. 

"I killed her," she sobbed. "In cold blood, I killed her. I can't live." 

"You can move on, I'll help you," he urged. 

B'Elanna shook her head and lowered herself; Tom backed up the steps that he had crept closer to her. "I can't live with this." 

"How do you think I feel," he whispered. 

"You're not the one killing yourself." 

"Not now I'm not." 

"Wh...?" 

"Charlie, Bruno and Odile. It was my fault that they died," he confided. "I knew it and I'm sure they knew it; and it hurts like fucking hell to know that that was probably the last thought that they ever had before they died. ...That and 'Oh shit!'"

"I _can't_," she whimpered and lowered her head and let her tears run off her cheeks. 

"Three deaths B'Elanna; you have two more to go. ...And _I_ lived," his voice dropped at the last tone. 

"If I don't kill myself, then they will." The rope at her neck was starting to burn her skin; all she wanted to do now was take it off. Damn him, ruining her life again. 

"They won't," he promised her. He reached his hand out and stroked her face. His ghostly touch was enough that she could feel it like electricity against her. He held his hand there and gathered her tears, she didn't move. "I love you, B'Elanna, and I miss you. Don't do this; it wasn't how you were meant to die." 

"What can I do?" 

"The old woman knows," he replied. "Do as she told." 

"But how? I have nothing; I cannot escape." 

"Go to Kul, she knows." The enigma in his voice coiled around her brain tighter than the makeshift noose; it held her and it refused to let her go. 

"But she is my enemy," B'Elanna explained to him. "She wants to kill everyone aboard _Voyager_."

"Keep your friends close, but your enemy closer," his face turned up into the patented Paris Grin of Flippancy. "You're smart, B'Elanna, you'll figure it out." 

"Don't go," she screamed as he began to fade from view. 

"I am always with you," he replied. "I am here," he touched the space of her heart that she thought had died, but jumped to life at his touch. It threatened to jump free from her chest as he pressed. 

"I love you," she admitted. "And I am so sorry about what happened between us." 

"Don't speak," he said and stepped close to her. As she kissed him, her heart felt like it was going to explode. The pain was nearly excruciating, and she tried to scream, but Tom's lips interfered, eating her breath. 

The pain had ended as suddenly as it had come. B'Elanna opened her eyes through the ion storm and looked for Tom, but he was gone, and so was the urge to kill herself. She felt his lips burned into hers as her shaky hands removed the noose from her neck. 

She threw it out the window, and it burned up in the force field. 

"Guard," she screamed out the opening of her cell in a inflection of urgency. Two of them came running to her and paused outside of her door. "I have to see Kulkinara-Amet right now. She will be expecting me." 

The guards looked at each other in bewilderment and then back at her. "Back away from the door and put your hands on top of your head. Any sudden movements and we will be forced to use constraint." 

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the sermon," she replied quickly. She hadn't felt sarcasm chew at her guts in a long time, and this new pain was welcome. She felt the pangs of being a murderer, but she didn't take them as the punch in the stomach that they had. 

They came in slowly, they were wary that she would try to attack them, too. It didn't matter that they had starved her into near-death, they were still as succumbing to hearsay and had probably seen her kill Seven of Nine. 

The shackles that they placed on her wrists and ankles bound her back to her situation and the chains made it nearly impossible for her to walk. She trudged slowly down the hall, listening to the catcalls of the other prisoner's ring in her ears like carillons. 

"Hey, it's the murderer." 

"She's one feisty beast." 

"I had three like her back on my planet." 

"She killed the other with her _bare hands_."

"Hey, I wouldn't mind her bare hands, any day." 

B'Elanna felt her cheeks redden with anger and embarrassment. She would have frightened them with her face, but it was twisted into neutrality. Instead, "My hands are for another." 

The entire cellblock erupted into catcalls and cheers, this time, her face reddened with encouragement.

B'Elanna walked the long walk tow where Kul would be waiting for her; it was a different route than taken before. She had no idea how she would play her cards, but she damn close to a Royal Flush, so she could bluff for a while. The chains were absurd, she was too damned weak to even break out of the cuffs, the chains were overkill. They clanked and sang as she trudged closer to her destiny. 

Destiny. 

Odd, that she would consider this of all things her destiny. Wasn't Engineering on a ship such as _Voyager_ enough? Obviously not to her brain---destiny was exactly what the body and mind was meant for. 

The tingle of impending death shot straight down into her stomach and rollicked her brain. She wouldn't let Kul kill her; she wouldn't let anyone kill her. This was her time, she had been at the bottom of the pecking order long enough. 

Her head was bowed like a good little prisoner as she was led into the room where Kul was. She was sitting at a desk that sat in front of a screen that looked like the one in Astrometrics. The memory of Seven knifed through her like an alcohol lance, but she bit it down. 

"Leave us," Kulkinara-Amet commanded the guards. 

"But she..." 

"She's harmless," Kul stormed, "now leave us!" 

The guards kissed their own asses goodbye as they backed out the door, not taking their eyes of their python of a master. 

"Murderer?" 

"I was surprised too," B'Elanna lied with mute compliance that could only have been forced with a hypospray. 

"I'm actually not surprised, B'Elanna," Kul confided. "Displaced energy: it happens to the best of us." 

Her laughter was in Zen. "You set her on me," B'Elanna deadpanned, not willing to blow her guise this early in the game. 

Long pause as Kul stared at her seductively. 

"Yes, actually, I did. Not with that desired affect, of course, but stasis does crazy things to people." 

"I've come to help you," B'Elanna nearly bit her own tongue off as payment for saying that. 

"I knew you'd see it my way," Kul grinned, her million-watt smile lighting the entire room. The smile was as fake as the light. "What was it that pushed you over the edge? Solitary? Killing the Borg?" 

"A lover." 

"Well, I have heard stranger," Kul shared with B'Elanna. "God, you look awful. Those chains don't suit you at all." 

"Remove them, then." 

"Why B'Elanna, I barely know you," Kul smiled coyly and walked over to B'Elanna with measure, her robes billowing behind her as a cloud would. Her eyes displayed nothing; she had learned the art of deception well. B'Elanna wondered if that was the same look Kul had used on Caretaker to get all of his secrets. 

"You're so beautiful, B'Elanna," Kul said, placing a hand to her face. B'Elanna looked down at Kul with dispassion in her eyes, she wasn't sure what to make of Kul's game. "I'm so glad that you have finally come and seen the truth." 

"Truth is only a mask for what is good and bad." 

"True, B'Elanna, true. ...I admire your mind, B'Elanna, truly. I have little to work with, besides with and looks," Kul circled B'Elanna and admired the muscle lines on her, despite her emaciation. She placed a finger in a chain link and rattled it in the enjoyment of seeing B'Elanna flinch. "True, I have intellect, but I can't call them into action as well as you can." 

_Yellow alert._

"A lover, you said," Kul mused as she stood in front of B'Elanna again. Damn it, Kul smelled like Tom, strangely. "What's this lover like." 

"Hardheaded, piggish, macho," B'Elanna recalled, making clear to Kul that Tom was her territory. 

"A man," Kul's fangs showed through her pearled teeth. 

"Yes." 

"And as a lover? How would he suit you?" 

"He does." 

Kul cocked her head and smiled like an imp who knew a secret of giant's proportion. "Males weren't built for intimacy, they are built for their bodies." 

"And you are suggesting," B'Elanna replied with the same soft demure that Kul had used. 

"A woman, naturally," Kul said, tracing her fingers down B'Elanna's ridges. B'Elanna bit her tongue until it bled. "Have you ever kissed a woman?" 

"Where are you going with this?" 

"All in good time, you will understand as things are revealed to you. ...Have you ever kissed a woman?" 

"No." 

"You are missing a lot," Kul's voice became hoarse and throaty. "There are some things a man can never give." 

B'Elanna's head bent down and accepted Kul's lips on hers. Kul was very gentle and accepting of the newness of the feeling, she placed a hand to B'Elanna's chest and pressed, making B'Elanna growl with anger and uncontrolled craving. Kul fed on that growl and sucked on B'Elanna's lower lip, forcing the blood to flow as her sharp little teeth bit into B'Elanna. 

It wasn't fair; Kul had full motility and B'Elanna was bound against using forceful passion as any good Klingon would. Was Kul one for bondage? 

B'Elanna broke from Kul firmly by enough not to seem cold and raised her head to be unreachable by Kul's seeking lips, but Kul seemed satisfied with the damage she had done. 

"How do you feel now?" she asked, wiping their blood from her silver lips. 

"Like I betrayed Tom," B'Elanna replied, but there was no emotion behind it. 

"Granted, although it was one kiss. ...But how did you feel?"

"I...don't know." 

"Not many people do the first time," Kul replied. "One word and it won't come up again." 

It scared her when she didn't answer right away, "No." 

Kul nodded and respected her space. "You came to help me. I am glad of that. I was worried I was actually not going to get anywhere with you." 

"I couldn't remain silent forever," she said. 

"Not many people can, I fear. Silence is a gift---it is golden. ...Do you feel anything about betraying your Captain?" 

"I am dead to her," B'Elanna mused. "I have been here for two and a half weeks and Janeway has not come for me." 

"You will feel something soon enough, B'Elanna, but you have to understand that that is natural. I will allow you to grieve if you must; but if you screw up this simple plan, I will kill you." 

"What am I to do?" 

"Eager, aren't we? A little too eager." 

_Red alert!_

"She hit you, didn't she?" 

"What!?" 

"Janeway seems utterly like the type," Kul mused. "Not physically, of course, but she hit you." 

"Y---yes." The more she thought of it, the more it seemed that way. B'Elanna ripped her brain out of Kul's seduction; "You hit me, too." 

Kul smiled and stroked B'Elanna's ridges again, dismissing the distrust. "Tell me first everything about _Voyager_, then tell me of Janeway. I wish to know everything." 

"I will," B'Elanna whispered as she formulated her plan. The threads began to weave themselves. 

End 2/5

   [1]: mailto:TrekPhile47@hotmail.com



	3. Marked a Murderer

Title: Sealaionn 3: Marked a Murderer

Author: TrekPhile47 

Summary: B'Elanna is marked as murderer, betrayer and pawn. Will she follow through with Kul's nefarious plan?

B'Elanna has sold her soul to the devil in hopes the devil will make change and enable her to get back to _Voyager_. Janeway come back for her; will B'Elanna have the guts to do the right thing? 

Rated: R, for the "F" word, angst, slashiness. 

Disclaimer: No esta mia. Drat. I take them out to play and I put them back, that's the only thing I am allowed to do. All poems by the marvelous e. e. cummings.

Spoilers: You're pretty safe with this one, save "Caretaker" and "Day of Honor." 

Keywords: B'Elanna, _Voyager_

Classification: Angst, Slash 

Archive: E-mail for permission.

Notes: Feedback. You must comply. [TrekPhile47@hotmail.com][1].

*** 

  
kumrads die because they they're told)   
kumrads die before they're old   
(kumrads aren't afraid to die   
kumrads don't   
and kumrads won't   
believe in life)and death knows whie  


*

Life slowly came towards the higher end of the Bell curve for B'Elanna. Her days began to become routine: she'd pick at the food that was set on the tray by one of Tamrak's lessors (Tamrak seemed to lose all interest in her since he hadn't been the one to break her), and then she would get dressed and meet with Kulkinara-Amet. 

Kul had granted her a sleek wardrobe. They consisted of three unitards that were loose and wore like big flannel pajamas, and three tunics that were loose like robes and tied around her waist. They came in three colors, white, white, and white. Simplicity in a complex nature seemed to be what Kul liked best. They were comfortable and provided her with a little bit of self-respect. 

She still lived in her cell, but she received showers whenever she asked and she could request an extra serving of gruel to go with the rocks that were called bread. She no longer had to wear the shackles and chains, but she was still treated like a prisoner and was escorted by two guards everywhere she went. 

Oh, yes---she was also betraying her captain. An offense punishable by death in ancient times and a court-martial, stripping of rank and pride now. 

But, if everything worked according to plan, B'Elanna wouldn't have too much longer to go in this hellhole. She had been here a month and already, she was nearly insane to get out. 

She had no idea how she was going to explain herself to her captain. She had formulated the speech many times in her head, but each time, she left out something that was vital, but didn't seem to fit in. Somehow, Janeway wouldn't take kindly to B'Elanna giving away all of _Voyager_'s secrets away. She had no idea how to explain her killing Seven of Nine to Janeway, either; there was no way to explain that. 

Today began the same as the others; she woke, bathed, dressed and ate a little bit. She then waited patiently for the guards to escort her to Kul. She looked at herself in the mirror and was nearly repulsed; she looked away just in time. 

"Come," the guard said as he came to her door. B'Elanna stood at it and waited as it slid to the side and allowed her to pass. The guards flanked her as she took the long journey, in protection of her or the other prisoners, B'Elanna didn't know; though the other prisoners no longer taunted her now that she was in the consorts of Kul. They figured that she was too high and mighty for them to bother with. 

She had taken this path so many times now that she could have done it in her sleep---backwards. Three turns to the right, one to the left, two to the right, on to the left and straight to the end of the hallway. The guards let her go in by herself; she had never made an attempt on Kul before, it didn't seem likely that she would now. 

Kul was reclined with a smile painted lazily on her face. 

"Good morning, B'Elanna," she nearly sang. "Isn't life beautiful when you aren't living in a rathole?" 

"But not when you are living a liar's life," B'Elanna deadpanned. 

Kul looked at her slowly and furrowed her brows. She seemed upset that B'Elanna wouldn't allow her seduction, but accepted it. There was always a part of Kul that was a little too close, a little to sexy, and a little to exposed for B'Elanna to bear, but it was able to be overlooked when her mind was occupied with freedom. 

Kul looked at B'Elanna from her chair as B'Elanna seated herself across from her. She offered B'Elanna a piece of fruit but B'Elanna declined; so Kul ate it herself. The bright scarlet juice bled and beaded on Kul's lips captivatingly. The lips; two blushing pilgrims ready stand.... 

What the hell was Kul doing to her? 

"So quiet, Butterfly," Kul noted as she wiped the juice from her lips and sucked it off the tip of her finger. "What cocoon have you been sleeping in?" 

"Introspection," B'Elanna replied, finding herself drowning in the vast expanse of Kul's nebulous eyes. 

"I hope you do not think of your former crewmate." 

"Seven?" 

"Yes, Seven. ...You know, you really did a number on her," Kul pointed out with earnest eyes. 

"No, I was not thinking of Seven," she nearly snapped in response. "I was thinking of Tom." 

"The man? Somehow, I thought I would have allured you." B'Elanna could smell her pout and the heavy thickness of a forthcoming tantrum. 

B'Elanna was silent. 

"You know, from where I stand, you could make an astounding courtesan." 

"A prostitute," the snap in B'Elanna's voice was full of static. 

"A euphemized version, perhaps. If 'courtesan' doesn't strike your chord, how about 'geisha'?" Kul was starting her erratic flight pattern. 

"Why?" 

"You are so exotic, and the truth of this is that you are the _only_ Klingon in the Delta Quadrant." 

_Don't remind me_, B'Elanna blanched. 

"Somehow, you seem like you'd be great under...pressure." 

B'Elanna nearly broke her fingers from restraining herself from jumping over the table to kill Kul. "My sex life is none of your damned business." 

Kul noted the danger in this subject and changed it; "We were speaking of Seven before I got off on a tangent." 

"We weren't," B'Elanna corrected as cordially as possible. 

"Well, in that case, we are now." 

"Do you _enjoy_ torturing me?" 

"It is not torture, dear B'Elanna, I am only singing your praises," Kul pouted and wiped another rivulet of juice from her chin. "She was Borg, possessed superior strength, and nasty temper. You were...weak, unsure; yet, you killed her." 

"Why are you doing this to me?" 

"Your strength is admirable. Perhaps I shouldn't kill you: not only are you strong, but you are smart. You can be useful here as an engineer: we need somewhat a scientific engineer to help breed new ideas." 

_Thank you for making me sound like a stallion at studding_, B'Elanna snarled with her eyes. 

"Speaking of which," Kul tapped her padd and shoved it across the expensive-looking desk and over to B'Elanna. She caught it up gracefully in her fingers and lifted it to her eyeview. "What do you think?" 

"What is this?" 

"Slipstream in transwarp," Kul shrugged her shoulders. "Took damn near forever to think up, but the design is so simple it is almost frightening." 

It was, B'Elanna found herself marveling it, poring over it as if it were the Holy Book. It was so simple and ingenious that it made the Starfleet Wizards seem like fools to not have thought of it. Fold space as you go faster than warp. You can appear in nearly two places at once to travel. 

"The only bug of it is that ships tend to catch on the wrinkles the slipstream creates," B'Elanna pointed out. 

"I know, we can't fix that, though. ...So far, nothing has damaged the ships, it just slows the travel a bit." 

"Is this your way of beating around the bush?" 

"Come again?" 

"Is this what you want me to work on?" 

"No," Kul shrugged. "Not for now at least. This is my plan for Janeway." 

"Giving her something that can get her home," B'Elanna was puzzled. 

"No.... She will arrive here. You will call to her, she will come." 

"She won't believe that it's me." 

Kul smiled her dentistry's dream of a smile, "She will want to know the truth; she is a scientist at heart, it is her nature. ...You were sick. You were in a coma because of the attack on you and Seven of Nine. You were whisked away to this hidden lab where we treated you. ...Seven wasn't so lucky. Does that seem easy enough?" 

"When lies are the truth," B'Elanna began; but it didn't come out right, so she stopped. 

"Now that I know Janeway (from your wonderful help), and have this transwarp slipstream in use and it's time for me to put our plan into affect," Kul smiled sweetly and held B'Elanna's forearm tenderly. "And from the shielding of this compound, the electronic waves will knock the slipstream out of commission. ...Once I have lured her by asking her to stay for a bit, it will be her undoing." 

"Is my work dome, then?" 

"No, call Janeway, of course." 

"With?" 

"Our comm system is one of the best in the galaxy, it uses transwarp slipstream also, bit it won't catch on the wrinkles; it will reach her," Kul replied. 

B'Elanna faltered as she stood at the comm array, her face bearing pain. 

"Don't tell me that you are getting cold feet this late in the game," Kul pouted. "This is really not the time for your integrity." 

"No, I was just...thinking about being able to see her again." 

"She doesn't love you like I do." The words were spoken in truth, and B'Elanna sucked in a breath that she choked on as Kul leaned on her arm, stroking her face tenderly. "I can love you in ways that she and Tom never could, but you were always so icy. ...Do you fear me?" 

"Yes," B'Elanna whispered, trying not to breathe in Kul's scent. 

Kul turned her head in the exact same way that Tom did and made B'Elanna want to slap her. "Don't. Your heart is so fragile, I wouldn't do anything to it." 

Silence as Kul stroked B'Elanna's ridges. 

"Call her, everything is in your hands," Kul said, taking her hand over the console and forcing her to press a button. Kul slid away as the hail went through. "You're on; don't disappoint me." 

***

"Captain, we're receiving a hail," Harry Kim called from his station. 

"Origin," she asked, her voice heavy with fatigue. She needed coffee and she needed it now...a coffee drip would have been great. 

"About 83.3 light years away." 

"What?" 

"That is what I am reading," Harry confirmed and then went into Ensign Explanation mode, "it is riding subspace, the message is nearly instantaneous." 

"Whoever it is must really want to speak to us," Janeway smiled with mirth she didn't know she'd had in her since B'Elanna and Seven died. "On screen." 

The gasp was in unison and could be heard clear to Earth. 

"B'Elanna," Tom whispered as the tears flooded back. 

The face was pallid and emotionless...living dead. Her eyes, normally as sweet and beguiling as fine chocolate, were deadened and placid, her cheekbones high and nearly poking through her skin. Janeway didn't deny that this woman looked completely like hell. "B'Elanna?" 

"I am...Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres," she assured. 

B'Elanna's face twisted in agony and she began her recitation, "Captain, I am alive. People who have treated me well are taking care of me. They have told me now that it is safe for me to call you." 

"How? Why hadn't we found you?" 

"The place on the planet I was taken to is heavily shielded, it is of no doubt that I wasn't found," she whispered. Though B'Elanna wouldn't have admitted if accused, the tears were laden in her voice. 

"B'Elanna," Tom whispered again. She ignored him to save her heart being shredded by the claws of his pain. 

"Safe," Janeway queried with a voice laden with disbelief; she was seeing an apparition of the dead. 

"I was ill for quite some time," she continued spinning her yarn, "I was just woken from the coma that I was in for three weeks. They have offered to keep me safe, they have offered me an engineering job, should I choose to take it. ...I hope it won't come to that." 

***

B'Elanna wasn't sure she could keep up her lies as long as Janeway was trying to operate on her voice; and the fact that Janeway wasn't using anesthesia wasn't helping the cause all that much. Kul looked at her simply, yet adoringly from off to the side: obviously, Kul had the brains, but not the talent to set traps. 

"Who has been taking care of you?" 

"Her name is Kulkinara-Amet." 

Janeway continued her slicing and dicing. "And where is she?" 

"Not present, I am sending this from my quarters." 

***

"And Seven of Nine? How is she?" 

"I am afraid that she didn't...survive," B'Elanna swallowed. "Her injuries were far worse than mine." 

"It's so good to see you," Janeway smiled despite the pang of loosing Seven all over again; but it was so good to see B'Elanna again that she was nearly in tears. "How are you faring?" 

"Well enough," B'Elanna shrugged. "I wish that you would come back for me." 

"We are adjusting course as I speak," she said and motioned to Tom, who proved that _Voyager_ could stop on a dime and give you nine cents change. 

"I'm giving you information on...engineering...that will get you here within two days," B'Elanna said and reached down to press a button. 

"Receiving information," Harry called. "Sweet Moth..." 

"It is a slipstream device," B'Elanna explained. "It is relatively easy to install; a bit underdeveloped, but it will suit both of our needs." 

"Too bad you aren't here to put it in," Janeway tried to get B'Elanna to smile back. 

"If I were there, you wouldn't need it," B'Elanna replied almost sourly. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I have to depart. Please, hurry, I need you." The screen erupted into a starfield. 

***

"There," B'Elanna said with tears in her eyes, "I am finished." 

"You did well, B'Elanna," Kul replied. She pulled B'Elanna in for a kiss that was so unexpected; she couldn't fend it off. 

Even though it tasted sweet from the fruit and bitter from the illicitness, B'Elanna could detect the rancid taste of betrayal. 

***

"That's not her," Tom said from his console, but not looking at his Captain. 

"She did seem a little icy," Janeway noted. 

"A _little,_," Tom asked, "she was colder than the arctic in the middle of winter." 

"She's been sick." That was a bit of a poor excuse, even for her. "She's been kidnapped, sick and awakened in a strange place; don't you think that _you'd_ be a little bit out of it." 

"It was her eyes, Captain," Tom said, finally turning to face her. She wished he hadn't, the pain was enough to rip her guts out. "They were...dead...cold." 

"We can't say anything about it, we don't know the full story," Janeway persuaded. "How long until we can activate the slipstream?" 

Joe Carey looked at her after consulting his console, "Good Lord, the principles are so fundamental it looks too easy to do." 

"In technobabble, please," Janeway replied, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. 

"It defies physics; it bends space without using anything more than our deflector dish." 

_Interesting technology_, Janeway mused; _almost too easy to come by._

"And creating it?" 

"Just a couple of tweaks and _Voyager_ should be set," Carey said. 

"Make it so," Janeway ordered. "I can't wait to get B'Elanna back into Engineering. ...No offence Mr. Carey." 

"None taken, Captain," he replied, "being the boss isn't all its cut out to be." 

"Mr. Paris?" 

"Captain?" 

"Come join me in my ready room." 

"Aye, Captain," Tom replied and abandoned his station. As the doors hissed shut behind him, he released the tight fists that they had become. He held a hand to his face to keep anything unsolicited from slipping out. 

"You don't think it's her," Janeway asked, her voice as cool as the stormcloud gray of her eyes. 

"I don't know what to think," he said. It was easier saying that than the truth that would make him cry. 

"Try to explain it to me then," she commanded, bidding him to sit. 

"Can I be frank, then?" 

"If it's what you need." 

_What I need is a stiff drink_, he thought, but decided not to be that frank. "Let me see if I can put it this way: boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl hates boy, boy woos girl, girl refuses boy, girl and boy declare love for one another, boy and girl fight, boy and girl make up, boy and girl fight again. How's this going?" 

Janeway waved his hand for him to continue. 

"Boy and girl don't speak for a week, girl dies, boy wants to die with her, boy's hopes for ever finding girl diminish, boy puts girl in ground, boy tries to move on, boy can't deal with girl's death, boy moves on slowly, boy comes to grips. ...Boy sees girl again," he finished finally as his voice cracked. 

"So, let me ask you again: do you think it's B'Elanna?" 

"No." 

"Would you be willing to be proven wrong?" 

"I finally have the second chance I have been dying for: to see B'Elanna again," Tom said. "In this case, I'd be damn willing to be proven wrong." 

"So be it." 

End 3/5

   [1]: mailto:TrekPhile47@hotmail.com



	4. Returned to Grace

Title: Sealaionn 4: Returned to Grace

Author: TrekPhile47

Summary: The final showdown. B'Elanna fights back.

B'Elanna has gone this far, if she doesn't finish her plan, then she is not only the murderer of Seven of Nine, but all of _Voyager_, including Tom Paris. Curiosity killed the cat...or the Caretaker. Once B'Elanna is out of the clutches of Kulkinara-Amet; how will her life be? Changed forever? How will she tell Tom about Kul? How will _Voyager_ react once the dream of getting home by the Array is killed in one fell swoop? 

Rated: R, if you've read the first three, then you know why. 

Disclaimer: They ain't mine. 

Spoilers: If you've read this far, it's too late not to be spoiled. 

Keywords: B'Elanna, _Voyager_

Classification: Angst

Archive: E-mail for permission. [TrekPhile47@hotmail.com][1]

Notes: Excuse slashiness. 

***

  
no man,if men are gods;but if god must   
be men,the sometimes only man is this   
(most common, for each anguish is his grief;   
and,for his joy is more joy,most rare)  


*

Two days passed incredibly quickly when before the days were longer than the trip to the Alpha Quadrant. 

Captain Janeway was in orbit above the planet and Kul was poised and waiting, her talons ready to snatch her out of the air. 

B'Elanna had the good manners to let Kul savor the victory by herself. 

B'Elanna was pretty sure that she hadn't slept at all throughout the two days and her stomach refused to let her eat anything. She tried to contact _Voyager_ and tell them to turn around. The effort was noble of her, but she wasn't allowed anywhere near anything remotely mechanical. Kul must have known her a hell of a lot better than she wanted. 

Now that the first two stages of her plan were done, she had to work the third into action. She had finagled a map of the grounds out of one of the scientists and she had taken it and studied diligently. She knew that the only way to be beamed up by _Voyager_ was to get out of the compound, which was enclosed by a force field. But the prospect of taking a turn in the arctic wasn't exactly pleasing to B'Elanna. 

One turn left, two rights and another left again and she should be home---

Shit. 

She wasn't at any door leading to the outside world, she was in front of a door labeled clearly "Science and Research" in Tamrak's hand. She silently thanked him for that. 

The only thing that seemed logical to her was to go in. Thank you, Tuvok. The door had a door that required humanoid effort with a slick metal knob. She seized it and pulled it open, sliding through the crack she had allowed herself. 

The lab was illuminated with halogen lights that cast a haunted-house view of the place. It was as intimidating as her first day at Starfleet Academy. 

Her own steps echoed largely in the hallway at the far end of the lab. She followed it blindly, unsure of whether or not she was going to intrude on something she shouldn't. It couldn't have been, seeing as though the door had no locking mechanism on it. 

B'Elanna faltered and slowed to a stop as she realized the room she was walking into. This section of the compound was immense and she had the vague feeling of what a single drone felt like in a cube. 

Stasis tubes. Thousands of them, some open and waiting, some closed. Each tube that was closed held a body floating in green fluid with tubes flowing into their mouths for air. 

Giant mechanical wombs. 

Some held people in them like overgrown fetuses and the others were slack-jawed and empty. B'Elanna's skin was tinged green with the color coming from the tubes (as there were lights inside showing the viewers the contents like fine museum pieces), her own breath appearing a fine mist in the cold air. 

Obviously, people in stasis didn't need heat and it was economizing to keep the place a meat locker. 

Meat locker. Ha! What a pun. 

Was Seven here? Was one of these stasis tubes her home and comfort before B'Elanna killed her? 

If Seven was in stasis to be gawked at, were the others here for the same reason? Were these freaks of nature according to Kulkinara-Amet? Were they worth the trouble or gathering them had most likely been? 

B'Elanna didn't know, but she was destined to find out. 

She recognized some of the races, Kazon, Vaadwaur, Pensarkan, and Qomarian. But that was just the Delta Quadrant section of stasis. On the second floor were specimens that Tamrak and his people had collected from the Alpha Quadrant: Ferengi, Bajoran, Bolian, Vulcan, even Cardassians. 

No Klingons, she noted sourly with pride. Probably her long lost relatives put up too much of a damn fight to be worth collecting. 

Realization washed over her as slowly as hypospray medication: no one ever left Tamrak's clutches. 

This wasn't Kul's collection; it was Tamrak's. 

Somehow, the butterfly metaphor she had used three weeks earlier seemed chillingly appropriate. 

A hallway was darkened and separate from the rest. Naturally, her curiosity got the better of her and she traveled down the dark hallway. She couldn't even see her hand in front of her face, but the sick lime-colored fluid provided light for her. 

She reached her hand out and wiped away the fog from the glass. 

"Sweet Kahless," she whispered an oath so sacred it could only be used in this situation. 

Caretaker. 

He was preserved in his human form, his frail old body floating in the green goo, doubled over so that his face was pressed to the glass. B'Elanna suppressed a shudder as she stared at him, floating in is tomb/womb. 

Kul knew everything that was in stasis here; she approved of Tamrak's "hobby." Did she want something with Caretaker's body? Was necromancy on the long list of kinky things that Kul enjoyed in the privacy of her lair? Was she trying to open his brain like a file and read it like a book? More questions popped into her head, but she wouldn't recognize them even for her own sake. 

She moved to the next stasis tube to see what other dirty little secret Kul was hiding in this comfortable nook. A scream caught in her throat and she had to use the tube for support. 

"Oh God," she switched religions. "No, no, no, no, no..." 

Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero-One. In suspended animation, but very alive and seemingly well. 

And very naked. 

B'Elanna nearly burst into tears as she leaned against the glass. "That bitch," she cursed. "She lead me on." 

Big surprise. 

"Hold on," she told the case. "I'm going to get you out of there." 

Seven didn't answer her, she only floated serenely. Despite the fact that she was decidedly BorgGreen, she looked like an angel with her hair floating around her, wafting as she twitched slightly. Her lips were parted and fluid passed through them and into her lungs. 

"I'm going to get you out of there," B'Elanna promised. She backtracked the way she came and found something that resembled an axe. Normally, she would have had no problems wielding the thing, but her muscles had disappeared and were only beginning to reform. 

She swung the axe hard and the pain vibrated up the sides of her arms, but she wouldn't let go of the axe. The glass spiderwebbed in all directions and fluid began to slip out. B'Elanna swung the axe again and punched a fist-sized hole into the glass; fluid rushed out like birthing fluids out of a mother. Seven began to twitch as if she were being born again as her comfort slipped away. B'Elanna screamed with her entire voice as she brought the axe into the glass a third and final time. 

The stasis glass shattered into a thousand pieces Seven of Nine spilled out into her arms. B'Elanna began to weep for joy. 

Seven was slick with liquid and B'Elanna checked her for a pulse. It was strong and her lungs must have been too, because she was coughing liters of fluid out of her mouth. B'Elanna was getting a view of Seven that ensigns shipwide on _Voyager_ would die for. 

Oh God, what had Kul done to them both? 

B'Elanna hulked the Aryan goddess to her bare feet and leaned her on a hip. Seven was regaining consciousness as she was preparing to leave, "State our desig..." 

"Good girl, Seven, keep talking," B'Elanna ordered and supported Seven's head. Her eyes fluttered wildly, but she remained breathing and her pulse was steady. 

B'Elanna paused as she looked at Caretaker. 

She was going to fuck Kul the way she'd wanted B'Elanna from the beginning. 

Seven slid to a heap in a very un-Seven-like manner as B'Elanna released her hold and took up the axe again. She screamed as she swung it three times into the glass. Klaxons began to go off loud enough for the deaf to hear. 

Figured that Kul would have rigged the damn thing. 

Caretaker spilled out onto the floor, the fluid gushing around B'Elanna's feet and soaking them. Caretaker's hand reached out and fell across her foot. 

With a scream of triumph and rage, she heaved the axe downwards and embedded it deep within his head. His congealed blood spattered across her front and face, and though she turned in disgust, she didn't regret killing this one. 

Finally, the alarms brought her back to earth and Seven of Nine was weeping like a child in confusion. B'Elanna stumbled across the amniotic slick and placed an arm around Seven, lifting her upright. 

"You have to run," she ordered, grabbing Seven by the shoulders and forcing her to look into her face. 

"State out designation," Seven commanded through the haze. 

"I don't have time for this," B'Elanna screamed. "You have to run!" 

"I..." 

"Comply," B'Elanna growled in the most guttural of Borg voices she could. Seven's eyes cleared up long enough to understand what was being ordered of her. 

She struggled to her feet with B'Elanna's help and looked down at herself. "I'm naked." 

B'Elanna slid off the robe part of her tunic and wrapped it around Seven. Forcing her arms into the sleeves was like forcing plasma into an invisible bubble. As it went on, she noted it looked much better on Seven than it did on her. 

As B'Elanna and she stumbled to the door at the top of the floor, energy weapons fired at them, threatening to take of a limb. About five guars had rushed through the door and were aiming and firing at the two escapees, each one poised with what looked like high-powered phaser rifles. They must have been roused in haste; their fire was slow, sluggish...missing their marks. 

Even though they couldn't aim for shit at that moment, there were enough of them to do some damage with their sweeping shots. B'Elanna and Seven hadn't been through Starfleet training regimes in a long time, and even a misfire from one of the guards could have caught one of their exposed limbs. B'Elanna cursed as a shot nearly blew the left side of her face off and shoved them both through the door and into the hall. The phasers were so hot that it burned the metal and the baby hairs on B'Elanna's face melted. 

The hall had guards running pell-mell in all directions, which would make their escape more difficult. The rush of adrenaline in B'Elanna's head was enough so that she could focus on her task. Her chest was heaving as she labored to breathe in her fear, and Seven just leaned heavily against her arm, trying to comprehend what was going on. B'Elanna desperately wished the Borg wasn't conked out, she desperately needed Seven's tactile mind working. 

As soon as the commotion outside died down, B'Elanna poked her head around the corner. As she was satisfied that it wouldn't be blown off, she lifted Seven off her feet and they blindly ran down a hall. They paused as more guards rushed past and then continued. 

B'Elanna recognized the door she was supposed to have gone through before and she and Seven ran out it. 

The icy blast pulled B'Elanna apart and a cry of surprise and pain emerged from her lips. Seven of Nine began to whimper again as the liquid still on her arms began to freeze and make her skin bleed. 

Though her feet ripped pain through all of her limbs, B'Elanna walked she and Seven through the snowdrifts. The snow soaked her flannel unitard and the wet cloth froze against her legs, making it nearly impossible for her to walk. Seven's whimpers became tears as the blood from her skin began to stain the snow faint pink. 

They walked about a kilometer before the pain became too unbearable. Seven collapsed into a drift and refused to move. 

"Come on, I promise, I'll give you enough replicator rations for six million hot baths if you just keep moving," B'Elanna shouted at Seven. Everything throbbed as the frozen blood coursed and cooled her; she wanted to crawl into the snow and die right along with Seven. "You can't stop," she urged, more encouraging herself. 

Seven decided that this was the end of the line for her and she let her eyes drift close and her body clutched tighter to itself. 

"Dammit," B'Elanna screamed at Seven's fetal ball. "You can't do this to me, I outrank you!" It was weakly spoken, it was weak way to get Seven moving, but Seven still refused. 

With what was left of her strength, B'Elanna lifted Seven and slumped her over her left shoulder. The scene must have been quite hilarious if not so dire: Seven was good foot taller that she and her arms and legs dipped deep into the snow as B'Elanna made her frozen way through the snow. 

They traveled another kilometer in the snow, but B'Elanna was so cold that mer mind had stopped working. She didn't know where she was going and she wasn't sure if she was far enough away from the compound to be able to be beamed up. 

Seven had lost consciousness a long time ago, and didn't protest as B'Elanna collapsed into the snow. The soft leafy flakes puffed around her and resettled on her, hot needles sewing pain deep into her limbs. 

"Torres to _Voyager_," she whispered as her frostbitten fingers touched the commpin, "two to...beam up." 

As she drifted out of consciousness, the confetti sparkles of the transporter beam swirled in front of her eyes. 

***

  
one pays him with a smile   
another with a tear   
some cannot pay at all   
he never seems to care  


*

B'Elanna could feel the world of _Voyager_ float around her on the transporter pad. She felt Seven laying next to her and sighed. 

Danger forced her to bolt upright and standing. 

"_Voyager_," she croaked. 

"In orbit of the planet," Harry said in his voice of ration. 

"No!" she screamed loud enough to startle him. "Leave! Now!" 

"B'Elanna, you're delirious," he said as he came towards her. He placed a supportive arm around B'Elanna's shoulders, "We should get you and Seven to Sickbay." 

"Get off me," she ordered brusquely and she shook off his hand. She would explain it all to him as soon as she knew that _Voyager_ was safe. "Take Seven, I have work to do." 

His hands were persistent in restraining her. 

"Get off of me," she screamed. She was grateful that fear wouldn't allow her to let pain interfere, because she knew that the way her muscles were cramping meant they still weren't ready for her brain to be pushing them around. "If you value your life and your mind, you'll listen to me." 

When he still had kept a grip on her forearms, she screamed and decked him. He was too surprised to stand up again; he held his bleeding nose in his hand and looked at her with pain. 

B'Elanna turned and ran, not willing to meet his accusing glare or she may have lost valuable moments. 

"Captain," she screamed as she burst onto the bridge. 

Janeway looked at her with surprised eyes, "You should be in Sickbay, recuperating." 

"Leave this space now," she ordered. "You're in great danger every minute you stay here." 

"You're sick," Janeway countered. 

"Dammit; stop telling me that!" she hollered and looked at the viewscreen. Kulkinara-Amet looked at her with wrath in her eyes; B'Elanna caught Kul's gaze and nearly turned to stone. "She's evil, she's here to kill you all!" 

"What?" Janeway floundered, her eyes returning to the viewscreen. 

"How the hell did you get on _Voyager_," Kul was too surprised to remain demure. 

"I escaped, and I found Seven," she spat. "Next to Caretaker." 

"Caretaker," Janeway asked, her voice hushed in wonder. 

"You..." Kul hissed. 

"_I_ did it, I killed him," she whispered, leaning heavily against the railing as it threatened to pass above her. "Your little 'collection' was quite interesting. How long were you going to lead me on?" 

"You _bitch_," Kul screamed, her face turning red. 

"On the contrary," B'Elanna countered. She wasn't sure how long she could argue; her legs were starting to wobble. "After you were done mangling Janeway, were you going to stick us all in cold storage and laugh when you saw our bodies next to his, congratulating yourself on screwing us so well?" 

"B'Elanna; what the _hell_ is going on," Janeway asked, joining her lost sheep's side. 

"They kidnapped me," B'Elanna actually screamed at the viewscreen. Chakotay had to join Janeway in restraining her from charging to the weapons array. "She forced me her so she could torture you!" 

"You freely told me..." Kul began, but trailed off as she realized how incriminating that statement was going to be. 

"What were you keeping Caretaker in stasis for? Were you going to crack him open like an egg and read his entrails for a sign?" 

"B'Elanna," Chakotay warned fiercely, his restraining grip on her arms tightened. 

"I made damn sure that wouldn't happen," B'Elanna continued on, using her rage to compete her body. "As long as his brain is in multiple pieces, it will make it damned difficult for you to do anything." 

"B'Elanna!" Chakotay's shouted, silencing her. 

"Damn you," Kul hollered, "I'll kill you! ...I'll kill everyone on _Voyager_ for this!" 

"I don't think so," Janeway said, her face solidifying into Commando-Kate mode. "Target their weapons array and fire." 

"Firing," Tuvok smoothed. "Weapon's array destroyed. There is no aerial attack; I believe Kulkinara-Amet is defense and offenseless." 

Kul screamed long and loud as her end of the connection shook with tremors. "But you have nowhere to go, Janeway; I the slipstream capability has been destroyed and you'll never be able to get it back. So _I_ have won in the end. ...I'll always hate you, Janeway! I swear to you I'll kill you and avenge my lover's death." 

Janeway shook it off, having head the oath so many times. Kul had nothing to get at her with.

"And you," Kul turned to B'Elanna, "know this: you are a cheap slut, and aren't worth a nickel in anyone's eyes. I know the truth about you, and I'll make sure everyone else in the Delta Quadrant knows, too. ...Especially Tom." 

Tom stared at B'Elanna with eyes that could melt concrete. 

"Fuck you," B'Elanna said simply, ignoring the shock in the entire bridge's eyes. 

"Let's get the hell out of here," Janeway replied, turning her back on Kul. The screen blanked as the screams tore apart the other end of the connection. 

B'Elanna had enough time to savor the victory before the ground came rushing up to meet her. 

***

B'Elanna floated into a world hazy with painkillers. She swallowed, but the cotton in her throat wouldn't budge, her tired eyes swept the area around her. All she wanted to do was slip back into her dreams; she couldn't take another nightmare. 

She felt a hand's warmth on her forehead, and she looked up, half-expecting it to be Tamrak or Kul. Tom looked down on her with worry and care in his eyes; his hand traveled the length of her hair and then down the sides of her cheeks. 

"Tom," she grogged, her voice as thick as the Valium haze. 

"Thank God you're back," he said. The tears lined his eyes in the way they had when she had tried to commit suicide. "We thought for sure that we had lost you." 

"_Voyager_," she asked for a second time, as his hand took hers persistently. 

"Beating it the hell out of where we came," he replied softly and kissed her fingers, still black from frostbite. He had the good grace not to ask her about Kul's threat. 

"That hurts," she said as she removed his hand gently. 

"I thought I told you not to bother the patient," the Doctor said with his face the same expression of disapproval that was always plastered on his face. 

"Trust me," B'Elanna said, "he's not bothering me in the least." 

The Doctor harrumphed and picked up her frozen hand, "Frostbite, Lieutenant?" 

"Snow," she replied. Tom still floated around like he was her oxygen. 

"Well, it's not too bad, it can be fixed with a dermal regenerator," he replied and waved the instruments over her fingers. The tingle was painful as sensation came back into him. "What possessed you to run out into the snow nearly naked and soaking wet?" 

"Freedom," she replied, knowing that that remark would have the Doc checking her head. 

"Where's the blood from," Tom asked seeing Caretaker's congealed blood dried on her stiff smock and checking her skin for cuts. 

"Caretaker," she whispered back, turning her head. 

"Alive?" 

"No, he's definitely dead now," she said. 

Silence settled on them all like a heavy blanket. 

"How's Seven?" 

"She should be fine after I give her another hypospray and keep her wrapped in hot blankets. She's suffering from what in normal language can be called 'stasis withdrawal'. She'll need bed rest...er alcove rest for at least 24 hours. . ...Not as if anyone takes my medical advice anyway. It's a good thing you decided to beam up when you did. Three more minutes and she would have been dead." 

"Transport.... Oh God! What about Harry?" 

"He'll be fine, also," Doctor said with a tone that stung like hornets. "Only a broken nose." 

"That's my B'Elanna," Tom smiled and gripped her shoulder, "hypothermic and still able to take out Starfleet's finest. ...Doesn't that make two broken noses on your list?" 

B'Elanna decided not to make him next and ignored him. "Can I see them?" 

"Seven is in isolation, but Harry's over there," the Doctor jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 

With Tom's help, she hobbled slowly over to where Harry was sitting, "Hey Starfleet." 

"Hey Maquis," he replied, rubbing the purple spot on his nose. "Remind me not to get into a fight with you when you are at normal temperatures." 

B'Elanna benefited him with a small smile, "Forgive me?" 

"From what I hear, you saved the ship from impending torture," Harry replied, his smile was cut off with a wince as his nose crinkled. "I suppose I have to." 

"I'm sure you can get back at me somehow," she smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

"Just as long as it's a clarinet-playing contest, I have a feeling anything 'physical' will get me into deeper trouble," he said and his eyes flicked to Tom. 

"I thought _I_ was the one getting physical punishment," Tom mock-pouted. 

"I'm recovering," B'Elanna threatened. 

"And Seven" Harry asked, his face drooping again. "What about her?" 

"Short of hypothermia and 'stasis withdrawal' she's fine," B'Elanna assured. She could read the dormant crush all over his features: if only he knew what she looked like naked. Maybe if she were in good spirits, she'd tell him. 

B'Elanna made her way to the area of sickbay that was segregated from the rest of the biobeds. Seven lay serenely unconscious on the table, her whole body enveloped in blankets. "Can I go in?" 

"For a few moments, but that's about it," Doc assured her. The force field flickered and B'Elanna went in alone, Tom respected her space. 

B'Elanna sought out Seven's frail hand in the blankets and held it in her own, "Aren't you glad I pushed you so hard? If I hadn't, you'd have died." 

Seven said nothing, but her breathing changed. 

"When you wake up, you'll have to tell me your side of the story," B'Elanna asked. "I'll be sure to tell you mine." 

There was a long pause as B'Elanna tried to say something for Seven and Tom, "I'm sorry about our fight before we were kidnapped. ...I'm so glad I didn't kill you." 

Tom was waiting for her as she came through the force field. He caught her as she began to fall and stroked her face as she began to cry when three weeks hit her from behind. 

***

Captain Janeway finished reading the padd in her ready room and clucked her tongue involuntarily. "This is B'Elanna's entire account," she asked the Doctor as she set the padd down on her desk. 

"Every sordid minute of it," he replied. 

"And Seven?" 

"She's already given her account." 

"And?" she pressed.

"The only thing she remembers is being shot at and then waking up in _Voyager_."

"She was in stasis for three weeks, correct?" 

"Affirmative." 

"Prognosis?" 

"She'll be up to medical and Starfleet snuff in another day. She's in her alcove right now, regenerating." 

Now to the messy part, "And B'Elanna?" 

"Much longer," he admitted. "As you have read, Tamrak the Magnificent raped her mind every day for two weeks. She's been suffering from nightmares and hallucinations as a result. It seems that her food was laced with a drug to suppress them after she had gotten off of Tamrak's 'treatment.'

"And, her ordeals with Kul are coming back to her," he continued. "She has confided in me how she fells guilty about letting herself be duped by her." 

"Suicide watch," Janeway diagnosed. 

"No," the Doctor countered. "She has no tendencies since the one she had in the prison." 

"Dear God," Janeway rubbed the side of her face and died for a cup of coffee; the bitterness of it could battle the sickness swirling in her stomach. "Tom's in for a real treat." 

"I had advised her to not tell him all at once," the Doctor replied, scratching at his bald spot in a manner unlike a hologram. This bit of medical marvelry was probably enough for him to demonstrate human habits of ire. "Also I have advised her to come and see me three times a week for the next three weeks." 

"Prognosis?" 

"It will take a while, but we should have the old B'Elanna we all know and love," he replied, looking very tired; if it was possible of a hologram. 

Janeway nodded absently, "Put this into a spot in the computer you see fit." She handed him the padd and he nodded, not moving. "Dismissed." 

The Doctor nearly ran with his tail between his legs. 

***

(ponder,darling,these busted statues 

of yon motheaten forum be aware 

notice what hath remained 

---the stone cringes 

clinging to the stone,how obselete 

*

B'Elanna sat in her quarters with a mug of hot coffee burning the palm of her hand. She had just ridden out the last hallucination and was so tired she couldn't sleep. But she hadn't taken a sip of coffee. 

She was glad that Tom wasn't there for the last trip down hallucination lane. 

She hadn't told him anything about her and Kul, but she had told him every nuance of everything else that had happened. At first, he was upset that she had been through so much, but then he was with her every step of her recovery. He seemed just glad and relieved that she was alive. 

She had finished three of her nine therapy sessions. She didn't think that all the memories would go away with the next six. She didn't even want to think; she wished that her mind could be flushed out like the warp coolant tanks: efficiently, periodically, and thoroughly. 

She had no idea how she was going to tell Tom about Kul. 

How was she going to tell him that she had enjoyed the first kiss? She liked the sting of the illicitness of it; she enjoyed the gentleness that Kul had that Tom could never give. 

Damn Kul, she was right about the whole female gentleness. But Kul also hadn't a clue when it came to being a warrior, and that was probably the only way that B'Elanna had won the battle of the sex. 

She shuddered as she felt Kul's hand cupping her breast. 

The only thing that washed the feeling away was the fact that B'Elanna had killed Caretaker. 

Regrets? I've had a few. 

She still wondered how she got to sleep every night after returning to Voyager. Even with Tom lying next to her, protecting her from herself, she still had nightmares that woke her up soaked in fearsweat. B'Elanna was grateful that Tom would hold her until she was calm. 

But he refused to make love to her. 

Maybe it was better that way. Maybe it would be better that he wouldn't seduce her until she had stopped floating in the muck of her brain. But the three weeks that she had rotted away made her crave human touch and she tried to get him to make love to her in a way that would have been called begging by anyone who hadn't been around Kul. 

For now, all she could be satiated with was with him just being her shadow. 

Her door chimed. 

"Enter," she said, knowing it wasn't Tom, who had just gone on shift. 

"Good afternoon, B'Elanna," Captain Janeway said, taking leave and sitting on the couch next to her. 

"Afternoon? Really?" 

"Time flies when you're off duty," Janeway smiled. "How was your last therapy session?" 

"Grueling," she replied; she took her sip of coffee that bit back. 

"Can I ask you something," Janeway cut to the chase. 

B'Elanna nodded, not meeting Janeway's stormcooled eyes. 

"When are you going to tell Tom about Kul?" 

"You know?" 

"I read your document," she replied with guilt. "I can utterly sympathize with you."

How could Janeway sympathize with her? _She'd_ never been seduced by a woman. Besides: she wasn't out looking for sympathy, only cures. "I don't know." 

"The longer you delay it, the harder it's going to get," Janeway insisted. 

B'Elanna bristled involuntarily. 

"Look; I can read in between the lines of what you and Kul went through, and I read that she brought me up into the conversation," Janeway cut further into B'Elanna's skin. "I understand why you said it; I know you wanted freedom."

"I was waiting for the punishment of sedition," B'Elanna sighed, putting the coffee on the table. "When do I report to the brig?" 

"You don't," Janeway replied. "I was hoping we could strike something mutual." 

"Extortion won't look good on a Captain's log," B'Elanna snapped. The emotion that flickered across Janeway's face made her wince and turn away. 

"You tell Tom about Kul and I will overlook you giving away _Voyager_'s secrets. How does that sound?" 

"Easier than it should." 

"Just tell him, B'Elanna. ...You owe him that much," Janeway said and left B'Elanna's quarters. 

***

  
come, gaze with me upon this dome   
of many coloured glass, and see   
his mother's pride, his father's joy   
unto whom duty whispers low  


*

Chakotay sat across from Kathryn as they ate their dinner together, "How's B'Elanna doing?" 

"From the Doctor's report and my seeing her the other day; prognosis is homeostasis." 

"And how's that?" he flashed a charismatic grin across the cold table. 

"She's had her share of setbacks, but the treatment she's receiving is remedying that," Janeway took a bit of her meal. "Ick. What is Neelix using in his cooking pot?" 

"I hope that it's not the stuff that we discovered molding in Cargo Bay 1," he countered. "...Anyway, how is Tom doing with all of this?" 

"I think he's just watching the vases as the fall off the shelf,' she frowned back, spearing her dinner with wrath. "He's happy as hell to get B'Elanna back, but he didn't expect her to be like this." 

"No one wants to see a loved one going through mental trauma," he replied. "After all; I know firsthand as I watched my grandfather." 

"Why Caretaker's Assistant?" 

"What," he asked, missing Janeway's line. 

"Kulkinara-Amet," Kathryn replied. "Of anyone, she's the one least likely to do this." 

"You're only saying that because you wanted her to be our ticket home," he pointed out earnestly. 

Well though and rationally spoken. Too bad it was true. "After five years, she is still harboring her anger...and blaming me." 

"Five years and a broken heart is enough time for anyone to brew," he smiled, enjoying his coffee pun immensely. 

"I just had her figured to be a caring person," Janeway replied, staring into the dimension behind Chakotay's shoulder. "...Though her intentions misplaced." 

"You know what ancient saying they had for assuming, don't you?" 

"No, what?" 

"'Assuming makes an ass out of you and me,'" he replied. "You seem more downtrodden than you should. Don't tell me you're _that_ disappointed about Caretaker's Assistant's nature." 

"No; just that we've been looking for her for so long in hopes that we'd be going home faster," Janeway sighed, pushing away her plate. She suddenly lost her appetite. 

"We've gotten _this_ far without her," he reassured, placing a hand on hers. "As long as we have each other, I'm sure the journey won't be too tedious." 

Janeway flipped her hand over and accepted the warmth of his pass through to her. "I have my crew and my health; I can't complain any further." 

"You don't see me goading you, do you," he asked. 

Their first kiss, though brief, was welcome and solacing to one another. 

***

  
it may not always be so; and i say   
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch   
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch   
his heart as mine in time not far away;   
if on another's face your sweet hair lay   
in such silence as i know, or such   
great writing words as, uttering overmuch   
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; 

*

B'Elanna woke up screaming from another nightmare. Tom was there for her. 

Her kiss on his lips was gentile and feminine; "I was so frightened." 

"I'm here," Tom promised, but he didn't decline the persistency of her lips. "This will get easier as time goes on. The memories will fade and life will get back to normal." 

"I hope so," she kissed his worried forehead. 

"I promise," he replied. 

"I have something to tell you," she dropped her head. 

"What," he asked, taking her chin in his hand. "Nothing you could ever say could ever make me not love you." 

She smiled weakly, took a deep breath and told him. 

End.

   [1]: mailto:TrekPhile47@hotmail.com



	5. The Shadows Heaven Casts

Title: Sealaionn 5: The Shadows Heaven Casts

Author: TrekPhile47

Summary: The evil is over, the war had ended. What scars remain?

B'Elanna is well on the road to recovery, and Tom is too. ...Isn't he? How much water does it take for the damn to break, and how many men does it take to rebuild it? 

Rated: R, for the "F" word and any other baddies that I missed. 

Disclaimer: They aren't my toys, I have to borrow them from the rich kid down in California, and I don't have enough cash to buy my own. 

Spoilers: None, you're safe. 

Keywords: B'Elanna, _Voyager_

Classification: Angst

Archive: Ask permission, stealing is rude and breaks a law or two. [TrekPhile47@hotmail.com][1]

Notes: This is the _final_ story in the Sealaionn series, it answers questions, but if you like hanging off a cliff **don't read this**! 

I also had to make a choice: messy breakup or makeup? I think B'Elanna has been through enough, nothing _too_ angry. (Construe it as you will.)

***

  
What is your substance, whereof are you made   
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?   
...   
In all external grace you have some part,   
but you, like none, none you, for constant heart.   


William Shakespeare

*

"B'Elanna, you know that even though this is your last official session, you can come back any time if you want to talk further," the Doctor said as B'Elanna Torres was leaving Sickbay. 

Nine therapy sessions behind her, nine grueling agonizing sessions, and eighteen hours of her life she would have rather spent doing something else. Anything else besides sorting through the muck of three weeks time. The less she thought of Kulkinara-Amet, the better. Never again was too soon. 

She was home free. She didn't _have_ to go to therapy anymore. That thought was enough to make her skip out of Sickbay, but seeing that, the Doctor would have yanked her back in for a head check. 

"Thank you for the offer," she said obscurely and slid out of Sickbay before Doctor could wedge himself farther into B'Elanna's personal life. 

Her day, despite being spent lazily, caught up to her and a yawn popped her jaw. She made her way to her quarters where Tom would no doubt be, sawing logs before he had to go on duty again. 

As she traveled down the graphite-gray halls of _Voyager_, she caught a few sympathetic glances from the other crewmembers that were traveling. At least they didn't pat her on the arm or tell them how sorry they were. _They_ were sorry? God, if she heard that phrase uttered one more time, she _would_ kill someone. It wasn't as if she was totally incapacitated and out of her gourd. 

The memories were already beginning to start to fade into the recesses of her mind like scars on the skin. (Minded that like memories, scars are basically permanent.) She could go entire hours without feeling Kul's touch, without hearing Tamrak's mind. She wasn't hallucinating now that she was weaning off the medication the doctor had given her to suppress their effects on her; she was only unlucky every other six hours. She would see the room where she was defiled in, she could smell the death in the air, she could hear the moaning cries in her ears---they were her own. 

But, even though the Doctor was telling her that she was doing well, B'Elanna could see it for herself. She was returning to normal weight and color, and her eyes didn't look dead, they began to grow more lustrous by the day. She could stomach most of the food that she put into her stomach (though with Neelix's food, it was good _anyone_ could stomach it); and she could sleep an entire night without waking in a sea of her sweat. 

Captain Janeway had promised that in another week, she could go back to her normal duties in Engineering. 

B'Elanna heaved an unconscious sigh as she got into the turbolift. She couldn't wait to have her work occupying 95% of her conscious brain again. Even when she stopped to visit Engineering during her time off, Joe looked at her forlornly, ready to relinquish Chief Engineer and get his own much-needed sleep. 

She entered her darkened quarters and the stillness was and unwelcome surprise. Even when Tom was sleeping, he sounded like he had a small animal caught in his throat. 

"Tom," she whispered as she moved over to her bed. There were no Paris-shaped lumps occupying the space on her bed. "Computer: lights half-illumination." 

The soft ambient glow cast serrated shadows along her floor, picking up object's silhouettes and running to hide in darkened corners of the room. B'Elanna made her way around to her shower and grunted in pain as she ran into the coffee table, which had been moved and turned into a footrest to accommodate Tom's legs as he sat up drinking coffee as he watched her sleep. Both their clothes lay strewn on the floor and Tom's odds and ends had floated from his quarters to hers. 

She would have been lying if she said she appreciated all his crap floating around her room. Though she loved the way he was, she hated the way he lived. If anything fell to the floor, he didn't give a damn until it hindered his way from the bed to the bathroom. So, while being Doc's Medical Malady of the Month, she was also (though not officially named so) Tom's Cleaning Lady. 

She really wanted to go to sleep, but she couldn't knowing that all the debris on the floor could kill her if she had to get to the bathroom to vomit up her dinner. 

Oh well; it was blood on Tom's hands, she was too exhausted to go looking for him. If he wanted somewhere to roost tonight, her door was open...as usual. ...Of course, she wouldn't deny him access, either. She pulled an oversized undershirt over her and slipped between the coolness of Starfleet bedgear. She hoped that she didn't dream. 

***

Tom came in about two hours later, and it was the light from the hall that made her rouse from her sleep. She kept her eyes closed so that Tom wouldn't feel obligated to talk to her. She listened as he rummaged around to get to her bathroom and his sharply cut curse as he barked his shins on the coffee table. Even half asleep, she chuckled, "_You_ moved it." 

"Ha, ha," he retorted sarcastically and stripped off his boots and socks. He placed a small kiss on her cheek as he passed her. A compulsory action, she noted. 

"We have to clean up this mess," she groaned as she sat up to watch him. 

"Let's jump off that bridge when we come to it," he said, unzipping his jacket, taking off his two undershirts and letting his pants join them. He pulled on his ratty old purple shirt as he made off to her bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. 

The clothes didn't trip him up. 

"Where were you," she asked quietly, listening to the water running. 

"Busting up the Camaro," he muffled around the toothbrush lolling out of his mouth. He began to scrub as she watched so he didn't have to explain himself more thoroughly. 

"At 3:30 in the morning," she gruffled and lay back down into the extra-firm pillows. She didn't get any answer back. 

Tom came back over to the bed smelling of soap and minty toothpaste. The water still clung to his red-blond stubble that was carpeting his face and he had a deep cobalt-colored water stain on his shirt. He slid between the sheets and settled his body into a comfortable position that he could easily catch a few hours of sleep with. As his arm grazed B'Elanna's shoulder, the icy coldness of his skin made gooseflesh rise on her. In automated response, B'Elanna half-wrapped herself around his body with her warmth. 

At first, he shied away from her touch, but he finally gave in and pulled her into his arms, whispering nothings into her hair. 

Is sounded strangely like he was trying to protect her. 

***

The coldness came rushing back through her body four hours later, which prompted her to half-awaken. She shivered and huddled herself closer to Tom, instead, she snuggled wrinkled and sleep-warm blankets. 

"Tom," she whispered though the sleep in her throat. 

"Here," he replied as soft as goosedown. In the dark, B'Elanna could barely make out his form, the only thing that gave it away was the light of the passing stars, which lit his face like lighting on a hot summer night does. It was entertaining to watch; it held the same captivation of a space-borne tempest. "Did you have another nightmare?" 

"No, I got cold," she said, rubbing intolerant sleep from her eyes. She padded over to him and sat at his feet on the carpet, like a disciple sitting in front of a guru pregnant with knowledge. "On the contrary, you seem to be the one who is upset. ...What's wrong?" 

"I was just watching you sleep," he noted, still hushed in the night's frozen breath. "And I was just...thinking." 

"A dangerous pastime," she teased gently. Tom's eyes flicked to hers and then out to the starscape. Night and day were trapped in his eyes as the blackness of space and the whiteness of stars mirrored against the cerulean sky of his irises. B'Elanna's breath caught in her throat as she realized how _beautiful_ his eyes were in this way. She wanted to reach out to him, to make his eyes gaze into hers, to feel his body in hers again. It ached her right down to the blood that ran through her veins. 

"Was it me," he whispered into the stillness. 

B'Elanna wasn't even sure that she'd heard him, his voice was so weak. Then, realization came into her and made her stomach harden around her dinner. She couldn't have sworn that Tom hadn't taken it this way, he'd only kissed away her tears, made her feel safe around him again; he'd just soothed her and whispered, "Don't worry, I understand." 

Obviously, he didn't. 

She didn't know what to say; her tongue became lead in the cotton of her mouth. When she'd first told him, she had a litany of things to say, but after two weeks of not having to resource them, they'd slipped free from the clutches of Memory. 

"Is it me?" 

"How can you think that what I did was because of you?" 

"Call me paranoid," he sighed, his eyes finally wafting back to hers, "but there are reasons why people cheat on their lovers." 

Her body began screaming at her mind on the exact reasons why she shouldn't get caught in this conversation with him. Because it's late. Because you're tired. Because you _just_ finished therapy. Because this isn't the time. 

Because the truth could make you lose him forever. 

She could hear the shouting match coming; it was so predictable that she knew the end of the argument before it began. She hated predictability; she loved the thrill of finding things of disarray, she worshipped the chaos in a personality. She didn't want to be another statistical statement of Vulcan logic. 

"I'm afraid," she whispered in truth, clutching her knees to her chest. "Don't hurt me, please." 

"_Me_ hurt you?" the words sounded softer still, soft and wet like a chick from the egg. It wasn't harsh, if that's what he'd intended it to be, it was questioning. "I have a feeling I couldn't hurt you no matter what I did." 

On the other hand, she had all of his romantic emotions in her fist and at any time she could squeeze and make them run everywhere like a broken egg. 

It was such a low blow to herself that she nearly doubled over with nausea. 

"But I can hurt..." she whispered into the fabric of her shirt. 

"Damn, can you hurt me," he smiled with no humor at all. His features were ripped apart as he threatened a sob, then finally managed to speak; "I don't know what to say B'Elanna. I don't even know if it was right of me to even say anything, because it just happened to pop out. I don't know if you want me to forgive you or to scream at you." 

"I would like forgiveness, but I would understand you yelling at me," B'Elanna whimpered, holding her head. "Either one; though you're more entitled to screaming at me." 

"You've been through enough," he said. 

"Don't pity me," she noted with no emotion. "I had hoped that this could all just fade away and forget that it ever happened." 

"And what would suppressing them gain you? Five years down the road, would you dump me becuse of Kulkinara-Amet?" 

Nothing she could have said would have come out right, so she remained silent. 

"Why?" 

"I don't know," she shrugged. "She was a snake, Tom. A goddamned, mother fucking snake." 

There was actual mirth in his eyes, "How's that?" 

"She had a way of...twisting everything to make you want her perspective. She made things look clearer through her lens, no matter how muddy the water," B'Elanna placed her hands on Tom's bare knees, and the muscles jumped beneath her touch in their familiar way.... 

"What could she say to you that I couldn't," there was no way to mask the hurt she'd wounded in him, so he didn't bother trying. 

"She told me what perhaps I needed to hear." She couldn't look at the shock that Tom wore like an ill-fitting mask, so she didn't, she let her eyes soak into the night. How many quarreling lovers looked up from their homes and into these stars? Did they solve their problems or travel their own separate ways? 

B'Elanna knew that this was going to be a trial that would tell each of them how they stood, where they were on the pecking order of things. 

So who wears the pips in _your_---

"You're not making any sense," Tom said finally. 

Right: Tom needs black and white here; he doesn't need muted gray. "She said chaotic things that made complete comprehensible sense. ...She appealed to my feminine side." 

"_I_ do that all the time and all it gets me is a busted lip," he scowled. B'Elanna recognized his flippancy as self-defense. She was starting to rub salt in all the open wounds. She'd try to get better aim next time and hit a place that salt didn't hurt so much. 

She didn't know where that was in Tom; he was covered from head to toe in ancient wounds that wouldn't heal right until he had the opportunity to talk to people. Namely, the Admiral Owen Paris of the fascist regime that seemed to be stacking up against Tom. 

If Tamrak were right, that was one cut that would never get to be healed. 

"I'm not sure how to explain it to you." Weak: totally out of character for her. Maybe she should get out the Klingon pain sticks and they could settle this in normal fashion. 

He didn't dignify her weakness with a response. 

"'There are things a man can never give,'" she recited from accursed memory. 

His blue eyes turned dark as he stared down at her. 

"Kul said that to me," she offered. "'Men weren't built for intimacy, they were built for their bodies.'"

"Why are you saying that," he asked, looking ready to clamp his hands over his ears. 

"Because it is exactly what Kul said to me," she replied to him. She realized where this course was taking her and decided an alternate route. "Women and men have traveled together in their herds since the dawn of time, only pairing off seemingly to mate. ...Women are more likely in tuned with women, and men relate to men a lot more." 

He nodded, understanding where she was gently leading him. 

"But in your heart, you know that your sex is off limits because it has been tabooed for such a long time," she said. "And yet, it doesn't stop people; they do it anyway. It may be because they truly can identify with their own sex better, or just because they are curious or afraid." 

"Which category do you fall under, then," almost afraid of her response. 

"Curious, I suppose. ...Kul promised me a gentleness that she swore that you could never give," B'Elanna whispered. She wanted to touch him, to make sure that he hadn't frozen in time to just ice away all the pain that she was creating for him. 

"And?" 

Oh, God, not that question. She didn't want to have to tell him how it felt; he would misinterpret it in so many wrong ways. This was the parallel universe of all explanations; sure there are a lot that look good, but none of them are the ones that is the wanted one, and anything less that what is expected is total sensory overload. 

"I..." 

"And," his voice was more firm. 

"She was right, in a way. The illicit feelings were nothing to shake your finger at, but she was dead wrong about the gentleness," B'Elanna said, her hand grazing his arm. His skin prickled and he looked down at it, shocked for making him seem human. 

"And the other two reasons," he pressed. 

If this were any other time, she probably would have laughed; it would have been short, harsh and bitter, but she would have laughed. "Hardly the type," were the words she was pretty sure she'd said to him through the mist in her brain. 

"And the fear of it," he asked, his eyes catching the light and threatening to run away with it. "Did you do it because you were afraid of her. 

He'd misconstrued the fear part, but she could kill two birds with one stone as long as they were hunting.... "I feared what she would do to me if I didn't, I was afraid of myself for letting her do it and...I was afraid of you." 

"Of _me_?" Shocked didn't come more pure out of a hypospray. 

"Of loosing you," she finished better for him. "And I was afraid that she was right when she said that women were better then men. I had to know the truth." 

"So we've circumnavigated ourselves back to truth," he said with a tone that meant he was impressed with her piloting skills. He wasn't the only one who could fly... "So, now, what is the truth, B'Elanna? We've gone this far, let's go to the end of the cliff." 

Jumping off was the unspoken part. 

Her lips trembled, "I'd by lying to you if I said I didn't like it. ...But I'd also be lying if I told you that I would do it again." 

"There's no substitution adequate enough to fool you that it's the real thing." For the first time, B'Elanna understood how truly he worked when he was on a roll of flippancy: he felt nothing, but did it for bravado. Of course, this was opposite from the way he worked, but her whole life had turned upside down, so why not have things come join it and be right side up? 

B'Elanna raised herself up and met his lips. Despite herself, they were so hot against his coolness, and she hoped that would be enough to melt him. 

"Don't pity me," he said, using her tone to let her know it was she in his voice. 

"You think this is pity," she retorted, taking his mouth so he wouldn't answer her right away. "Do you want this to be a pity fuck?" 

He groaned against her mouth, not sure whether or not he wanted her to have control or not. 

Gentle, hell. Men were as gentle as lambs as long as they had control. It wasn't being gentle that Kul should have been talking about, it was the control. 

Kul: what a joke. She probably _did_ sit around and look pretty, a geisha in every sense of the word. She was always told who was in control and as soon as she realized _what_ she was, she was pissed. She should have called Janeway back to thank her, and not to kill her. 

Stockholm Syndrome. Falling in love with your captor, or in this case, your master and john. 

Kul wanted love from B'Elanna. She was so miffed about love when it came to her and Caretaker; she wanted love Caretaker that she'd lie to him (saying that he did indeed love her, when as they both knew he didn't) to get power and comfort that she'd so desperately needed. 

Stand on your own two feet. Better yet, get on your knees, pucker up and kiss my a---

"This is not pity, B'Elanna," Tom intoned as his lips grew more persistent at her body, wishing with their touch that he had petite Kul hands to get into the spaces that B'Elanna had closed until she had them in working order again. "Only if I didn't know you would this be pity." 

Tom was right: there was no substitution that could fool you it was the real thing. 

"I thought I'd lost you," he said. "I wanted to die with you." 

"You saved me," she whispered into his ear. "When I thought it was all over, _you_ were the one who told me not to fall to my knees in the last prayer." 

Tom regarded her silently, and B'Elanna continued kissing him, staining his skin with red blotches of her sharp teeth. They needed this, talking could only go so far, then it was body language that led one home. "I'll always love you." 

"I know," she nodded, remembering the rope at her neck, now Tom's arms holding her to his body. 

"No substitutions," he asked gently as he kissed her. 

"Never again," she promised. 

"I could never hurt you," he whispered to her through the haze of their emotion, "but you sure as hell could hurt me." 

She handed him the egg of his emotions, "Don't let me hurt you. Ever." 

"I don't know," he said matter-of-factly with a smile twinged in his lips, "I kind of like the making up part after something like this." 

Her smile electrocuted him and left a mark on his skin, "Beats the hell out of the doctor's therapy." 

"Don't ever die again," he ordered as he lay next to her. "I couldn't loose you again." 

"You'll never lose me, Tom," she kissed the place where the tears started to flow. She gently touched the place where his heart lay, beating serenely to a musical symphony unheard; "I am here." 

End

   [1]: mailto:TrekPhile47@hotmail.com



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